White Knight
by macko123456
Summary: White Knight is now finished! Read the complete story of the White Knights, a noble Chapter with a dark and hidden past at war with aggressors inside and out. Fighting the Tau and a rogue Inquisitor on the planet Ulis, they soon find themselves caught up in a heretical conspiracy millennia in the making . . .
1. S1 E1: Knowledge and Faith

Series I - Von Guyen 

Episode I - Knowledge and Faith

 _Aside from the legendary Ultramarines, there is no more rightly feared Chapter active in the Sagittarius Arm than their close allies the White Knights. Indeed, the two Chapters have a long history of cooperation and intelligence sharing. The Knights' colours, white edged with blue, are the Ultramarines' in reverse. They revere Primarch Guilliman and lead their own planetary empire centred on the world of Russala. But despite this, the two differ in a few crucial ways. In the place of the Codex Imperialis, the Knights have the Lexicon. And rather than content themselves with ruling, they see themselves as protectors of the weak and the downtrodden, wherever they may be. That generous spirit has brought them to the planet Ulis, the latest frontline in their perennial battle against the Tau Empire._

They called him the Executioner. Sometimes, the more daring among their number would venture to use his real name. Samovar von Guyen, they said. The people of Ulis whispered that he used to be a servant of the Emperor, that he was an Inquisitor who had strayed from the righteous path and joined forces with the Tau scum. But whatever they said, they all agreed on one thing: crossing him was a death sentence.

Arin Sarox didn't care about rumours. All he cared about was making it to the next sunrise. His feet pounded on the cracked cobbles of the alley as he ran. Ahead of him, in the building that had once hosted Fastunhive's law courts, an autogun battery spat vicious curtains of shimmering lead into the windows of the administrative quarter. Behind them flitted orange-armoured figures, darting occasionally into the open to lay down a few hopeful shots with their pulse rifles.

"Emperor protect me," Arin begged.

With a harsh whistle, a plasma shell slammed down behind him. The shockwave from the blast picked him up and carried him a few metres. He landed in a limp heap next to the building.

"Hey!" came a shout from ahead. "You there! Over here!"

Arin rolled weakly onto his side. He could feel blood oozing from shrapnel wounds in his back.

Just round the corner, leaning from a shattered hole in the wall, was an Imperial Guardsman. The markings on his combat armour identified him as a man of the 21st Ulian Infantry.

With all his strength, Arin began to crawl.

The soldier ducked out and squeezed off a few rounds from his las-rifle before a searing bolt of blue struck him on the neck. He fell to the ground in a growing pool of blood, clutching at the gaping wound as his life drained away.

Arin stared, horrified, while the man's face paled and his features set in a grimace of agony. Then he was on his feet and running again. He made for the first refuge he saw. There was a pair of grand arched doors ahead of him and he stumbled towards them. In his desperation, not even the tapering stone spire over the entrance had given it away. He was standing in the calm, hallowed interior of a basilica. Statues glared down at him from high plinths. The explosions that lit the night sky were reflected inside the nave as throbs of bright, multicoloured light through the stained-glass windows.

The Emperor Himself stood over the altar at the far end, face raised to the stars, sword held out before Him to rally His troops. Thick stone locks of hair flowed out behind Him.

"Oh mighty one," Arin prayed, falling to his knees and clasping his hands together, "Hear this plea. Protect me from the storm and the tempest. Protect me from heresy and fear. Light my path and hide my steps. This I pray."

A heavy footstep came from behind the statue.

Arin's heart missed a beat. He scrambled to his feet.

"Who's there?" he cried, his voice cracking with fear.

"You know, I can quote things too," the darkness maliciously replied. "Shall we take turns?"

"Show yourself!" Arin demanded. "Where are you?"

" _They shall be my finest warriors_ ," the voice said, " _These men who give of themselves to me. Like clay I shall mould them, and in the furnace of war forge them. They will be of iron will and steely muscle. In great armour I shall . . ._ "

Arin made a run for the doors, almost tripping over his own feet as he went.

"Oh, don't run," the voice said. "If you run, I'll just have to shoot you. Don't you want to hear the end of the quote?"

His skin crawling, Arin turned back.

There was no-one there, just a disembodied voice.

" _In great armour shall I clad them and with the mightiest guns they will be armed_ ," it went on. " _They will be untouched by plague or disease, no sickness will blight them. They will have tactics, strategies and machines so that no foe can best them in battle. They are my bulwark against the Terror. They are the Defenders of Humanity. They are my Space Marines and they shall know no fear_."

Samovar von Guyen, the Executioner, strolled nonchalantly into the light. He was tall and thin, wearing a golden hood and orange robes like those of the Tau he called his allies. A scar was drawn across his neck and a pistol was held in his bony white hand.

"Except," he said, "They will fear _me_."

Arin stood rooted to the spot in fear as Samovar walked up to him.

"Do you fear me?" Samovar asked.

There were no words in Arin's mind, just abject terror.

"So disappointing," Samovar tutted, and raised the pistol.

There was a deafening crack and Arin's vision turned pure white. He heard a thud and wondered if it was his own body hitting the floor. In that moment, he didn't know if he had lived or died, if the world was real or if he had slipped into the afterlife.

An arm landed on his own and pulled him away. Next thing he knew he was being carried bodily across the nave. There came the sound of a heavy door closing and a bolt being slid home.

"Now," a stern voice said. "Get up."

Arin blinked quickly and his vision began to clear once more. He was lying on the floor of an anteroom, next to an antique wooden desk. The room was quiet and dusty, its windows rattling now and then as shells came down outside.

Seven feet of Space Marine stood over him. His adamantium armour was painted the purest of whites, edged with regal blue on the shoulderpads and the knees. A golden chalice symbol shone from his breastplate. Resting on the brow of his shining helmet was a crown of laurels and held in his hands was a thunder hammer. Lightning crackled and fizzed around its head.

"I know you," Arin realised. "You're the Chapter Master. Sanctus . . ."

"Sanctus Grimfist," he replied, from behind the imposing grille. "I think we are on first name terms now, do you not?"

"You saved me," Arin said. "Thank you for . . ."

Grimfist drew a thick finger across the padding around his throat.

"He is still out there," he whispered, as quietly as his voice magnifiers would allow.

Arin froze. He'd naively assumed they were safe.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the nave. The door creaked in its frame. The footsteps paused for a moment, then resumed, fading into silence.

"Alright," Grimfist said. "He is gone. But I am sure he will be back."

Arin pulled himself up.

"You sound like you know him," he said, dusting himself down.

"He used to be an ally of ours," Grimfist said, cryptically. "That was a long time ago."

He reached up with one hand and removed his helmet with the clunk of a heavy-duty unlocking mechanism. Beneath it was a rugged, blemished face, sporting a bionic right eye and a metal plate in place of a forehead. Unkempt grey hair fell down around it, braided with golden hoops emblazoned with the same chalice symbol as the huge suit of power armour. There was an augmetic implant shining in his right cheek. He fidgeted briefly with it and it gave a bleep.

"Are you okay?" Arin said, hesitantly.

"Control is a tricky thing these days," Grimfist remarked. "That is how _he_ operates, along with the rest of his kind. He thinks he is in control. But he is wrong."

"I don't understand," Arin admitted.

"The Tau have wormed their way into Samovar's brain," Grimfist explained. "And deluded him into thinking _he_ commands _them_. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. They use him because they believe it will intimidate us." He looked down at Arin. "Tell me . . . do you fear it?"

"What?" Arin said. "The Tau?"

"No," Grimfist said. "The one they call the Executioner."

Arin paled at the thought.

"Of course I do," he said.

Armoured joints whirred, clicked and ground together as Grimfist shrugged.

"Well," he said, "I suppose you are only human."

He crossed to the door and kicked it open. The force took it clean off its hinges and it came to rest against the altar, bent double over itself.

"Stay here," Grimfist ordered Arin. "You will be safe."

"Where are you going?" Arin hissed.

"I am not done here," Grimfist said. "Knowledge and faith."

Arin stared at him, dumbstruck at the honour he had just been afforded. A few minutes ago he was running for his life and now he had the chance to recant a Space Marine Chapter motto to its Master.

"Knowledge and faith," he said, breathlessly.

Grimfist strode out into the nave.

Samovar was waiting for him. He was standing in the multicoloured shade of the stained-glass window over the entrance. Seeing Grimfist, he raised his Tau pulse pistol and emptied the energy cell. The bolts of blue plasma ricocheted off the Astarte's armour and up into the rafters, sending dust pouring down onto the blasted pews.

"How fitting that I should find you here, Samovar," Grimfist said. "Of all places."

"Sanctus," Samovar purred. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

Grimfist glanced back at the statue of the Emperor behind him.

"Such is the fate of all the Imperium's enemies," he declared. "I made a promise to bring you to justice, and I intend to keep it. This war ends now."

"This war has barely _begun_ ," Samovar spat. "I've seen the light, Sanctus. The Greater Good is more than either of us – it's more than _both_ of us. We must join with them, or face annihilation."

He flexed his fingers and reached down to his belt. There was a click as he unclasped the equalizer his xenos commanders had bestowed upon him. With the press of a button the weapon telescoped outwards to its full length. It was a beautiful thing, long and slender with jewelled bulbs at each end. Samovar whirled it round expertly.

Grimfist flicked his thunder hammer to maximum power.

"We trusted you," he said, resentfully.

"And that just proves it," Samovar scoffed. "You were always beyond saving."

Grimfist charged at him.

He raised his weapon in defence.

The equalizer's disruption field immediately absorbed the crackling energy of the thunder hammer and discharged it in an immense flash of light and noise. Both weapons shattered into a million pieces. A shockwave swept along the nave, breaking windows, shredding banners and snuffing out candles. Both of them were lifted off their feet and sent flying away from each other.

Samovar smashed through the stained-glass window and sailed clean across the square beyond.

Silence fell. Wind whipped through the ruined nave. The church, which for so long had escaped the destruction, had become the latest casualty of the war for Fastunhive.

Arin cautiously stuck his head out of the anteroom and looked around. There was no-one to be seen. The sound of laboured breathing drew his attention and he saw Grimfist lying at the Emperor's feet, his back propped up against the heel of a gigantic boot.

"Chapter Master!" he exclaimed, and scrambled over the debris to reach him.

Grimfist's breastplate was badly damaged. The golden chalice was cracked in two and blood was leaking down his front, staining the clean paint. His face was as pale as Samovar's had been.

"Master Grimfist!" Arin said again, trying to lift his impossibly heavy form, willing him to wake up. "Come on, please! I need you! We _all_ need you! Master Grimfist!"


	2. S1 E2: Giants of Legend

Series I - Von Guyen

Episode II - Giants of Legend

 _Sanctus Grimfist, Chapter Master of the White Knights, lies seriously wounded in a basilica on the second level of Fastunhive. Samovar von Guyen, his target, has disappeared. The news of these developments has not yet reached the Imperial Guard detachments throughout the city. Ulis is their world, and Fastunhive its capital. Many of them grew up in the very streets they are struggling to liberate. For them, this battle is personal._

It had taken the valiant men of the Ulian 21st Infantry five hours to establish a firing position.

With fire and steel they'd cleared out a large industrial warehouse across the highway from the Tau headquarters. Somewhere inside what had once been the precinct house of Fastunhive's Adeptus Arbites, they were told, resided the foul xenos' leader. They'd locked down the area and spent the better part of an afternoon putting the pieces in place for the final assault.

Trooper Leith shouldered his las-rifle, rested its barrel on a cracked and tarnished windowsill and sent a volley of red needles over the highway. They stabbed at the orange-armoured aliens camped outside the precinct house's entrance. A series of plasma bolts came his way in return and he ducked back into cover as they cut holes through the wall. One of them hit a supply crate deeper in the warehouse and ration bars skittered out across the floor.

"Corporal," he called out. "I'm not sure what this is meant to achieve."

Corporal Verrel looked up from his data-slate and came over. He was a tall, well-built man, in contrast to the slender Trooper.

"We have to keep the pressure on them," he explained. "If we're going to end this battle tonight it's going to take a combined effort. That means units across the hive, all attacking at the same time."

Leith kept his head down as more plasma whipped past. Once it was clear, he leaned out and squeezed off a few more potshots from his las-rifle.

A missile streaked from one of the warehouse's upper floors. It slammed into the giant Aquila suspended over the precinct house's entrance. With a long, drawn-out creak the Aquila began to fall.

The Tau at the barricades below scattered as it came down on them, crushing a few to death and sending up a massive cloud of dust and debris.

"Come with me," Verrel said.

Leith shouldered his rifle and followed the Corporal into the yawning belly of the warehouse. Racks of shelving climbed towards the ceiling on their left and right. In the middle, a space had been cleared for the command post. Desks were set up in a ring around a holographic projection of the battlefield. It showed Imperial Guard forces surrounding the Tau.

General Titus Bannur III, the Regiment's commanding officer, was standing at his desk with a cup of recaff in his hand. He had the portly belly of a rich aristocrat, a moustache that hinted at compensation and more medals than anyone cared to count.

"This is all _their_ fault," he was grumbling to himself. "If they hadn't pushed us . . ."

"General," Verrel greeted him, giving him a salute.

"What are you doing here?" Bannur demanded. "You're supposed to be laying down suppressing fire on the precinct house."

"We've blocked the main entrance," Verrel said. "I thought you'd appreciate an update."

"How are we supposed to get in there now?" Bannur asked.

Leith cleared his throat. He was nervous around the irate General.

"Sir," he ventured, "When the White Knights arrive . . ."

" _If_ they arrive," Bannur interrupted him. "I know they're very good at taking morons like yourself in with their grand promises, but us intelligent types can see them for the charlatans they are."

"It's _we_ intelligent types, sir," Verrel said.

Bannur glowered at him.

"Since you show such enthusiasm for proper conduct, Corporal," he snapped, "You can be the one to lead the next ground assault. We're supposed to be keeping them on their toes. That means regular waves of infantry crossing the highway."

"General," Leith said, "You can't make him do that. You need him, and that's a death . . ."

"In that case," Bannur snapped, "You will be going with him."

Leith's heart sank.

"On your command, sir," Verrel said, calmly.

He led Leith back over to the front of the warehouse. A large group of Guardsmen had already assembled for the next wave. They were checking their weapons and armour. Most of them were too scared for conversation.

"Men of the 21st Regiment," Verrel addressed them. "I know you're frightened. But you must see this not as a suicide mission but as a golden opportunity. These Tau bastards took our city from us and now we've been given a chance to take it back."

A cheer went up, but it was half-hearted. There was only so much he could do.

His radio crackled.

" _If you'd care to proceed, Corporal?_ " Bannur said.

"Of course, sir," Verrel curtly returned. He made the sign of the Aquila over his chest and beckoned to his men. "Let's go, let's go!"

Guns up, they flooded out of the warehouse's open doors and onto the rough tarmac of the highway. Streams of Guardsmen poured between ruined cars, sending a hail of las-fire at the precinct house as they advanced. The troopers in the windows behind them opened up as well.

They were met by a flickering blizzard of blue plasma that tore into their ranks. Bodies soon started piling up, twisted into impossible shapes by the force of the Tau weaponry.

Leith slid into cover behind the remains of a supply truck and dropped onto his stomach. He crawled underneath it to get a good firing angle. Looking up, he could see alien movement on the roof of the precinct house. With one eye closed he picked off a couple of the xenos. Red needles stabbed neat, smouldering holes through their orange armour plating.

A tightly stitched cluster of plasma blasts slammed into the truck just above his head.

He pressed himself to the ground and closed his eyes, offering silent prayers to the Emperor as more and more shots rained down on him.

"Forward!" echoed General Bannur's voice from the warehouse. He was speaking through some kind of magnifier to goad his men onwards.

Heat blistered over Leith's armour as a nearby puddle of fuel ignited. Flames jumped up at the truck, licking around its fuel tank.

Leith felt panic rising in his chest. He put his rifle down, not caring if it made it through the blast or not. His survival was far more important than a gun's anyway. With his left hand he began jostling the tank, trying to free it from its holdings so he could drag it away from the fire. There wasn't much room under the truck and the movements were difficult and cumbersome. It didn't help that he could hear the fuel inside the tank sloshing about. It was almost full.

A hand closed around his leg and dragged him roughly out into the light.

It was Corporal Verrel, and in his other hand was a laspistol. He emptied its energy cell in the direction of the precinct house as Leith picked himself up.

"Good to see you in one piece, Trooper," he said. "Now run."

Leith didn't need telling twice.

They both sprinted away down the highway, plasma kicking up plumes of dust and rubble around their heels. A moment later the truck's fuel tank exploded in a ball of flames and smoke.

Verrel and Leith dived behind an overturned car to escape the blast.

For a few seconds their hearing was gone, replaced by a high-pitched whistling in their ears. When it came back, there was a new sound layered over the noise of the battle. The snaps of las-rifles and Tau pulse rifles had been joined by the canine barks of bolters.

"It's them," Leith realised, breathlessly. "They're here!"

Giants of legend thumped down the highway. They wore shining suits of pure white and gleaming blue. In their hands were the finest weapons the Imperium had to offer, and they showed no mercy in using them.

The Tau broke and scattered, beating a retreat back into the precinct house.

One of the Marines came over to Verrel and Leith. He removed his helmet. His eyes, hooded slightly under a high forehead, were sea-green and attentive. Like many of his comrades, he had cut his hair short, with a little length at the front to form a fringe of sorts. He was thin for an Astarte, still far bulkier than either of the Guardsmen could ever hope to be, but exuded a kind of innate inner strength.

"You are relieved of command," he said.

"We're relieved in general," Verrel told him. "General Bannur thought you weren't coming."

"We made a promise," the Marine said. "And we intend to keep it. This ends tonight."

"And what about _him_?" Leith asked, and lowered his voice. "The Executioner?"

"He is being dealt with," came the deep reply.

Another Astarte came over, this one taller and bigger. His left shoulderpad was painted gold to denote his rank and his features were hidden beneath his helmet.

"Knowledge and faith, Gyrus," he said, with a nod to the precinct house. "Time to go."

"Third Captain Jarfur," Gyrus returned, and threw him a smart salute. "Knowledge and faith. I was just assuring these Guardsmen that we fully intend to keep our promise."

"Of course," Jarfur said. "Tonight Fastunhive will be freed."

"I have no doubt," Verrel said. He trusted the Marines implicitly.

Gyrus slid his helmet back into place and followed Jarfur over the highway to the precinct house's ruined entrance. A few of their fellows had already cleared the rubble and the remains of the Aquila that had blocked it earlier. They stepped inside. The towering lobby of the building rose above their heads, ringed with balconies at different levels. Tattered banners hung down from the thick pillars. Scraps of burning paper floated through the air. Abandoned Tau machinery had been left lying around.

"Captain Jarfur," said Nicodemus, the Third Company Champion. "Take a look at this."

"What is it?" Jarfur asked.

Nicodemus handed him an auspex.

"The xenos are planning a counter-attack like we feared," he explained. "They are massing a force to move against the garrison at the spaceport on the top level.

"I sent thirty men up there," Jarfur said. "We have to stop them."

"Yes sir," Nicodemus nodded. "Only, we have been given another assignment."

Jarfur frowned inside his helmet.

"Go on," he said.

"It is the Chapter Master," Nicodemus told him. "Something happened with von Guyen. Details are hazy, but the Second Company is closing the net around a basilica on the level below and they have asked for help from the Third."

"Then we had better get there," Jarfur decided. "Move out."

The Marines around the lobby began filing back out onto the highway, reloading their bolters and powering up their power swords.

"Sir," Gyrus said to Jarfur, as they emerged from the building, "What about the men at the spaceport? Are we expected to leave them to the Tau?"

"If we can kill von Guyen tonight," Jarfur said, "The xenos will know the fight is done. He remains our top priority."

"I am not sure that's how the Tau work," Gyrus admitted. "We cannot know they will stop their attack if von Guyen dies. We would be placing a third of the Company in harm's way for a fool's errand."

Jarfur stopped and looked down at him.

"Are you saying that killing a rogue Inquisitor is a fool's errand?" he asked.

There was a pause.

"No sir," Gyrus said. "I am not."

"Good," Jarfur growled, and strode away.

Across the highway, the Imperial Guardsmen were regrouping to count their losses and await new orders. They all knew it wouldn't be long before they were handed down another assignment. Verrel and Leith were sitting on a wrecked car, checking their armour for damage.

"Well," Verrel said, "They sure made short work of the Tau."

"You can say that again, Corporal," Leith agreed. He shook his head slowly in admiration. Five hours it had taken them to establish a firing position, and the White Knights had won the fight in five minutes. He watched them as they stalked away on their next mission.

Unbeknownst to him, of course, Gyrus was not among them.


	3. S1 E3: Sacrifice

Series I - Von Guyen

Episode III - Sacrifice

 _With their Chapter Master wounded, the White Knights are pulling back towards the basilica they have made their headquarters. In the meantime, a vanguard of Tau tanks are advancing on their thirty-man garrison at the spaceport on Fastunhive's top level. Third Captain Jarfur has discovered this much but a xeno jammer has rendered him unable to radio a warning to them. Gyrus, an Astarte under Jarfur's command, has taken matters into his own hands. He has disobeyed a direct order and set off for the spaceport to alert his fellows to the Tau force._

Burning buildings and flickering tracers lit the night sky above Fastunhive. The city's top level was an absolute ruin, strewn with wreckage and craters from punishing orbital bombardments. Here and there, giant holes had been torn through it to the floor below. Ulis' two moons, Maximus and Minimus, bathed everything in a ghostly white glow.

A squad of Tau moved stealthily through the gloom. They were Pathfinders, scouts who advanced ahead of the main force to measure the enemy presence. Unlike their fellow warriors they wore no suits of armour, just orange fatigues with helmets and sparse plating for protection. They were intended to pad across the battlefield undetected. Communications snapped back and forth between them as they took up positions in a damaged hab-block overlooking Fastunhive's main spaceport.

In the giant clearing before them was a wide array of landing pads, taxiways and cavernous hangars. The whole place was lit with giant floodlights and White Knights could be seen patrolling the perimeter in groups of three or four.

Far below them, in what was left of the street outside, Arin Sarox was running again. The Knight's Second Company had drawn the noose around the basilica where their wounded Chapter Master lay, but they had been in vain; there was no sign of von Guyen, nor any Tau to speak of. Every alien in the area seemed to have disappeared. That false sense of security had persisted as they'd loaded Arin and a group of other refugees onto a truck and sent it off in the direction of the spaceport, which they assured him was safe. Except, of course, it wasn't.

Waiting by the giant elevator that had brought the truck up to Fastunhive's top level was a vanguard force of Tau tanks. They hovered on cushions of blistering air and fired bolts of the purest blue that scythed through buildings and armour alike.

Arin didn't know if he was the only one to make it out alive. He didn't particularly care. There was only one thought in his mind: he was home.

The hab block rose above him, a dark shape in the gloom. _His_ hab block. He knew this place so well that it didn't cross his mind to check for threats before advancing. That was what made it such a surprise to find a Tau Pathfinder posted in the lobby, pulse carbine already up and aiming at him.

"I surrender," he said.

It issued some command in a language he didn't recognise.

"What do you want me to do?" Arin asked, as he raised his hands.

Before it could give a reply, the wall behind it began to shift and move.

The Tau turned, in as much shock as Arin was, as a hulking, armoured figure emerged from the ferrocrete, as if it was being birthed from some grey cocoon. A huge gauntlet closed around the alien's thin neck and crushed the life from it with a thought.

The body slumped limply to the floor.

Silence fell.

"Oh, Emperor," Arin gasped.

The Space Marine thumped across the lobby and stood before him.

He looked up at its featureless eye-slits.

"How long have you been waiting there?" was the first question that came to his mind.

"Long enough," the Marine replied. He reached up to his helmet and removed it, revealing green eyes, short hair and a high forehead. "I am Gyrus. What are you doing here?"

"I live in this block," Arin replied. "And I'm Arin."

"You cannot be here," Gyrus told him. "Leave."

"But I have nowhere else to go," Arin said.

Gyrus pointed upwards at the ceiling.

"A group of foul xenos is setting up a command post a few floors above us," he explained. "Unless you want to incur their wrath, I suggest you do as I say."

Arin's face paled.

"Do you mean . . ." he said, with a nervous glance at the body on the floor. "Do the others already know we're here?"

Gyrus shook his head.

"No," he said, to Arin's immense relief. "I took out their watchman before he could send a distress signal. But they will be investigating his absence before long."

"Please," Arin said, "I need your help. All I want is to go home."

"Your home is currently a forward operating base for the Tau," Gyrus said.

"Can you clear them out?" Arin asked, desperately.

Gyrus nodded.

"That is what I came here to do," he said, and slid his helmet back into place. He unclasped his auspex from down by his belt and handed it to Arin.

"I'll wait for your call," Arin promised.

"It will not be long," Gyrus said.

He stepped into the elevator and ordered it up. It shook and began to move, climbing the shaft as a snail's pace. Gyrus knew he was placing himself in danger, even if the Tau above didn't know he was coming, and braced himself for combat with a silent prayer to the Emperor. Interacting with his armour's life support mechanisms using his mind, he flooded his veins with stimulants and adrenaline to make himself ready.

The doors swung open.

In half a second he had identified his targets: two Tau by the doorway and one in the corridor. His bolter rose and he left off a couple of sharp, well-placed shots, one for each of them. By the time the bodies had begun to fall, he had smacked the third around the face with the butt of his gun and shattered its skull. There was no time to catch his breath. His plan would only work if he moved too fast for the Pathfinder team to call for reinforcements. That meant keeping them all engaged with him instead of their radios.

Three more of them were waiting for him in the living room, aiming at him over an upturned couch. Bolts of plasma ricocheted off his armour.

He fired his bolter again, shredding them with a volley of explosive rounds.

Their screams of agony echoed in his ears.

Two more came in from the kitchen.

The first had readied its weapon and sent a plasma bolt towards him. Its energy was absorbed by his armour and it dissolved harmlessly.

With the drone of motors and tiny servos, he smashed its head against the wall and threw the second backwards, across the kitchen and into the table.

It crumpled, along with the table, and both collapsed onto the floor.

There was a noise behind him.

His armour sensed it at precisely the same time he did. The nerve signals from his brain to move his muscles were intercepted and translated by the electromagnetic weave laid across his skin. Power levels spiked, represented on his heads-up display by climbing bars, and machinery whirred into life, moving the suit around his limbs in time with them. To him, he was wearing nothing at all.

To the Tau raising its rifle to fire, one and a half tonnes of adamantium plating as thick as its arm turned faster than it could ever hope to.

Gyrus fired a single round.

The Tau dropped, its head split open.

He sighed as he holstered the bolter. It was times like those that reminded him how he'd made it into the Third Company. If his plans had been correct, the alien he'd thrown into the kitchen table should still have been alive.

Sure enough, the sound of coughing reached his ears.

He walked over to it, laid his hands on his shoulders and lifted it up into the air so its helmet was level with his glowing eye-slits.

It struggled and twisted vainly.

"You have been blocking communications with our force at the spaceport," he said. "And I do not like that. Where's the jammer?"

"You will _never_ find it," it spat, in broken Gothic. "It's safe."

"Surrounded by your tanks, no doubt," Gyrus said. "When will they arrive?"

"Soon," it said, relishing the thought. "Too soon for your friends."

Gyrus looked past it, out of the window. He saw the brightly lit spaceport and the patrolling groups of White Knights. With a snarl he drew his bolter and put a shot into the xenos' helmet, then threw the body away before the explosive bullet could detonate. Blue blood splattered over the walls, running down to the floor in long lines. He used his mind to open a radio channel.

"Arin," he said. "It is safe."

" _Right_ ," came the hesitant voice on the other end. " _I'll come up_."

Arin entered the apartment to find Gyrus waiting in the living room. His helmet and his bolter rested on a chest of drawers by the wall. He was cleaning his tactical knife meticulously.

"Here," Arin said, handing his auspex back.

Gyrus took it.

"Thank you," he returned, curtly. He kept glancing through the window.

"What's wrong?" Arin said, seeing the spaceport. "It looks safe to me."

"There is a Tau force moving in to secure it," Gyrus said. "They will be here before long. My Company Captain thought killing von Guyen would stop them, but I know better. These xenos may be resisting their destiny, but they are not stupid about it. They will never stop unless it benefits them."

"But if they're on their way," Arin said, piecing the story together, "Surely you weren't sent here alone to stop them? I mean, you're . . ." He looked around at the bodies scattered throughout the apartment. "You're _very_ good, but you couldn't hope to fight tanks."

"One or two, maybe," Gyrus boasted, then nodded his agreement. "You are right, though. I am not here on orders. Captain Jarfur and I had a disagreement."

"I didn't know Space Marines could do that," Arin admitted.

Gyrus gave a wry chuckle.

"We are not so unlike you," he said. "Some of us are petty and unfocused. Jarfur tried to warn the Astartes at the spaceport but the Tau jammed our signals, so I set off on my own."

"That's very heroic," Arin said.

"I do not know," Gyrus said. "There is probably punishment at the end of it."

"But you're trying to save lives," Arin pointed out.

Gyrus shrugged.

"Orders are orders," he replied. "But I am doing what I believe to be right."

He slid his cleaned knife back into its sheath and put his helmet back on. His bolter was stored in a large holster down by his waist. With heavy footsteps he crossed to the door.

Arin looked around, his shoulders falling.

"I live here," he said, again. "Or at least, I used to. A couple of floors up, actually. I had a wife and a . . ." His voice wavered. "And a son."

Gyrus turned back.

"What happened to them?" he said.

"I don't know," Arin said. "They were on the first evacuation wave, before the Tau hit."

Gyrus smiled inside his helmet.

"That wave made it out safely," he said. "We were told as much in our briefing."

Arin's eyes widened.

"Oh, thank you," he said. "Thank you so much for that."

Gyrus surveyed the wrecked apartment.

"Everything has meaning," he said. "Even those things that hurt us. In the creed of the Adeptus Sororitas, it is written that _we serve the Emperor with our faith and devotion, and with faith there must also sometimes come sacrifice_. I always took a lot from that quote."

Arin nodded slowly to himself.

"You're right," he said. "I'll be okay."

"You will," Gyrus said. "Whatever happens."

He walked out into the corridor.

Arin followed him and stuck his head round the door to see him stepping into the lift.

"So where are you going?" he called after him. "Back to your Company Captain, or . . ?"

Gyrus pressed the button on the console.

"Jarfur be damned," he said, as the doors slid closed. "I am going to save those men."


	4. S1 E4: Midnight

Series I - Von Guyen

Episode IV - Midnight

 _After arriving at the spaceport to find thirty Astartes ready and waiting for them, the Tau vanguard force has turned back on itself and made for the basilica on the second level where the Second and Third Companies of the White Knights are defending their Chapter Master. With midnight approaching, they are fighting tooth and nail to defend their position. Third Captain Jarfur is keen to explain his decision to abandon the men at the spaceport, and he will have his chance. His fellow Captain Harlus, leader of the Second Company, is waiting to question him._

Third Company Captain Jarfur roared aloud as he emptied the bolter's entire magazine across the square, ignoring the blizzard of plasma bolts that answered him. He swore beneath his breath when the smoking gun ran dry and reached down for a refill.

Sitting on the firing step below him, Corporal Verrel held the new magazine up.

Jarfur's armoured fingers fumbled for it, found it and rammed it home into the bolter. Within a second he had cocked the gun and resumed his broadside, sending a stream of rounds into the windows of the administrative quarter. Beautiful stone cornicing and elegant statues exploded in a shower of fine stone dust until the weapon was drained for a second time. With a snarl, he threw it down.

"Pick it up," he snapped.

Verrel reached for it. It was hot and almost too heavy for him.

"Now!" Jarfur ordered.

In his panic, Verrel dropped it.

Jarfur raised a hand to strike him. A slap from a Space Marine could break a human neck. But before he could bring his palm down, another hand closed around his wrist.

It was Harlus, a fellow Captain of the Second Company.

"Breathe easy, brother," he said, calmly.

Jarfur jabbed at Verrel.

"This wretch thinks he can defy me," he growled.

Harlus shook his helmeted head.

"The Guard may be but tools for the Astartes," he acknowledged, "But that does not give us license to damage them. There is more than one way to mete out discipline." He turned to Verrel. "Get up on the firing step."

"Yes sir," Verrel said, and obediently climbed onto it. He aimed out into the square.

"Now," Harlus said, gently correcting his posture as he did so, "Stand upright and keep the stock of your las-rifle firmly in your shoulder. And whatever you do, remember that you are a Guardsman among Space Marines. No alien will spare you a second thought, let alone target you."

Verrel glanced down at his boots.

"Harsh words, I know," Harlus agreed. "But think like a true soldier and use that fact to your advantage. It gives you the opportunity you need. See anyone?"

"I do," Verrel said, looking through the rifle's sights.

"In your own time," Harlus said, kindly.

Verrel closed one eye and took a deep breath. He fired a single shot.

The orange-armoured figure dropped heavily to the ground.

"He's down," Verrel said, proudly.

"You see?" Harlus said. "You have power like we do, albeit in a different way. Where we can take the punishment of our enemies' guns, you can evade it and strike back. Lesson learned?"

Verrel nodded breathlessly.

"Lesson learned," he repeated.

Harlus nodded to Jarfur.

"We are needed," he explained.

A combined force of Knights and Guardsmen of the Ulian 21st Infantry had been defending the basilica for the better part of an hour now, fending off endless waves of Tau tanks. There was no sign of von Guyen or the aliens' leader. The Chapter's vaunted promise to end the battle for Fastunhive by sunrise was slipping further and further out of reach.

Jarfur and Harlus wound their way through the piles of crates and supplies that had been laid out along the nave.

"You are too soft on the humans, brother," Jarfur said. "They fight weakly and break easily."

"And you hold them to too high a standard," Harlus retorted. "This is their city. They are doing their utmost to retake it. It just so happens that _their utmost_ is not the same as ours."

A Tau Hammerhead tank hovered into position in the square outside. Its turret traversed and the railgun sent a shot through the basilica's front wall. The statue of the Emperor at the far end was beheaded by the bolt of shimmering blue.

"Damn it!" snarled General Bannur, who was standing by its feet. "Get some fire on that thing!"

"What did he think we were doing?" Jarfur muttered, as he and Harlus approached the General.

Harlus chuckled inside his helmet.

The two of them didn't see eye to eye on most issues, but there was one thing they could definitely agree upon: both of them hated Bannur. They hated him, they hated the contempt he showed for them and they hated having anything to do with him. Unfortunately the mission they were undertaking made avoiding him difficult.

"You two!" he barked at them, completely disregarding the usual reverential attitude used when addressing Space Marines. "What took you so long? I summoned you here five minutes ago!"

"You did not summon us," Harlus said, calmly. He was trying to keep Jarfur from being the one to reply. The Third Captain would solve his problems with violence, and while killing an Imperial Guard General wasn't a crime for an Astartes it would probably hurt the humans' morale.

"Well, you can just keep saying that to yourself," Bannur told him. "But I know the truth. And you still haven't answered my question. I summoned you . . ."

"We do not answer to you," Jarfur said, indignantly.

"No," Bannur said, with a smug grin. "You answer to your beloved Chapter Master, and he's off getting his chest put back together while we dig ourselves into this hole defending him."

Jarfur stepped forward.

Harlus held him back, as usual.

"What did you need?" he asked, politely.

"A report on your force levels," Bannur said. "My men are going to make a push to break the siege and much as I'd like to do it without your help, you'd make it a whole lot easier."

"Most of the Second Company is here," Harlus said. "I've been in contact with the stragglers and told them to stay in position so they can mop up the fleeing Tau once they break."

Jarfur took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

"Five squads of the Third Company are here too," he said. "We are pulling back to this location. I had thirty men at the spaceport, but the damned xenos are jamming our signals and now I cannot reach them. We are working on finding the jammer."

"Fine," Bannur said. "You can go."

"Thirty men?" Harlus asked Jarfur, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly to distract him from Bannur. "That is a potent force, brother."

"There was a Tau vanguard moving towards them," Jarfur explained. " _This_ vanguard, I would imagine. I don't know if they have held position or if they are en route to our location."

"And have you suffered any casualties?" Harlus said.

Jarfur nodded.

"Two tonight," he said. "There may be a few more before sunrise."

Harlus glanced at the chronometer on his heads-up display.

"It is just past midnight," he said. "We are looking at a few more hours of this."

"Did any of the Second Company come into contact with the Tau leader?" Jarfur said.

"None," Harlus lamented. "It must be in the city somewhere."

Jarfur reached up and removed his helmet. He had a thick neck and deep-set eyes. His hair was brown and unruly, coming down to his chin and arranged in loose curls. When he talked, his four golden teeth caught the light, as did the studs in his forehead and his ears.

"Maybe von Guyen's grand claims were right," he suggested. "Maybe he really does lead the aliens. We used to believe as much."

"The Tau would never give command to an agent of the Imperium, even a rogue one," Harlus replied. "He is being manipulated into thinking he has the power."

Jarfur shook his head.

"You know von Guyen, brother," he said. "How can you be so sure? He is a crafty man. I understand that these xenos are highly motivated, but given time, perhaps he could have worked his way into their minds. We cannot discount the possibility."

"Is that why you brought your men here instead of reinforcing your garrison at the spaceport?" Harlus asked, provocatively. "For a theory?"

Jarfur put his helmet down heavily on a supply crate.

The noise caught the attention of the nearby Guardsmen. They turned to watch.

"If we kill von Guyen," Jarfur insisted, "The Tau will wither and die."

"You cannot seriously believe they're that stupid," Harlus scoffed, from behind the implacable grille that covered his mouth.

"I do not believe they're stupid at all," Jarfur retorted. "I . . ."

He noticed the Guardsmen and glanced at them.

"Do you not have a war to win?" he shouted.

They hurriedly dispersed.

Jarfur lowered his voice.

"Von Guyen has always been cunning," he said, "But I fear there may be some deeper power at work here. He could be using technology to influence them . . . or worse still, the malicious guidance of the Dark Gods."

"Chaos?" Harlus said, dubiously.

"In all our fighting," Jarfur said, "We have seen no sign of a Tau commander in the field. My men even raided their headquarters at the precinct house. There was nothing to suggest they were led by anyone other than the Inquisitor."

Harlus did not reply. He was thinking to himself.

"Now, if that is true," Jarfur went on, quietly, "We have to ask ourselves how he took control of their ranks. I can see no other way."

"There are no documented examples of Tau falling to Chaos," Harlus pointed out.

"That is not to say it is impossible," Jarfur said.

Harlus looked at him, surprised by his insightfulness. He tended to discount Jarfur as being motivated only by his anger and pride. This time, however, his theory seemed to hold up.

"We can take it to the Chapter Master," he decided, ambivalently.

"Take _what_ to the Chapter Master?" came a voice they both recognised.

Sanctus Grimfist emerged from the anteroom where the Apothecaries had been treating him. He was back to full strength, his face flushed and his limbs suffused with energy by their stimulants. A bolt pistol hung at his belt alongside a power sword to replace his broken thunder hammer. He'd chosen to keep his old chestplate, even with its shattered chalice. With no helmet on, he looked exactly like the history books depicted him: battle-worn and bloodied but victorious nonetheless. He was a figure of myth and legend even among the Marines he led, which made him practically a living god to the Imperial Guard.

"My brothers," he said, and wrapped his arms around Jarfur and Harlus both.

They looked up at him; he was easily a head taller than they were.

"Master," Harlus said, once they all broke apart. "The Third Captain and I were just discussing von Guyen and his leadership of the Tau."

"Was it important?" Grimfist asked.

"No," Jarfur said, before Harlus could speak. "At least, it can wait until we break their attack."

"That's the kind of spirit I like to see," Grimfist told him, and turned to Bannur. "General, I want you to prepare your men to make a push out of this place. If we are to find Samovar by sunrise, we'll need to get moving."

"I had that idea ten minutes ago," Bannur snapped, resentfully.

"Well, I am having it now," Grimfist said, silencing him. "Do we have the numbers to do it?"

"Not without some losses," Bannur said. "It'd be easier if we had a proper force of troops outside the basilica to flank the Tau."

Jarfur's radio crackled. He took the call.

"Who is this?" he asked.

" _Captain Jarfur_ ," came the reply, " _This is Gyrus._ "

"I do not know that name," Grimfist said.

"He is a Marine in my Company," Jarfur explained. "I ordered him back here with us but he disobeyed me and made for the spaceport to contact the garrison there."

Grimfist patched in to the call.

"Is that true?" he said, levelly.

There was a tense pause.

" _Yes sir, it is_ ," Gyrus sent. " _When the Tau saw we were ready for them, they turned and headed back towards your position. We have been following them ever since._ "

"Did you make contact with them?" Grimfist asked.

" _We just knocked out their jammer_ ," Gyrus replied. " _I took a hit during the battle and I am not sure I am good to fight, but there are three squads of the Third Company awaiting your orders._ "

Grimfist smiled broadly.

"Thank you, Marine," he said, and ended the call.

"If not for him," Jarfur said, "We wouldn't be surrounded by Tau right now."

"I know," Grimfist nodded. "Take command of the squads he brought and order them to outflank the enemy when we make our push."

"What about Gyrus, sir?" Jarfur asked.

"Send him to me," Grimfist ordered. "And I don't care if he needs medical attention; make sure he sees me as soon as he gets here."


	5. S1 E5: Allies and Rivals

Series I - Von Guyen

Episode V - Allies and Rivals

 _Mercifully, Sanctus Grimfist is alive and well. Not only that but he has devised an aggressive plan of action to take back the initiative. Now the White Knights are on the offensive. They have broken the Tau assault on the basilica and are advancing through the hive in an attempt to find the Executioner at last. Their time is short; dawn is fast approaching. But before he joins his men on the frontlines, Grimfist has loose ends to tie up. Gyrus, a Marine in the Third Company, directly disobeyed Captain Jarfur's orders but saved thirty lives in the process. Grimfist has a plan for him, and it is not the one he is expecting._

"A promotion?" Gyrus said, incredulous.

Grimfist nodded.

"Yes," he said, firmly. "I know it might come as something of a surprise to you, but my mind is made up. I'm sure you will be keen to accept."

Gyrus shook his head slowly, looking around the quiet nave. It had been half an hour since the combined force of Knights and Guardsmen had broken the Tau siege, and now they were spreading out through the ruined hive to track down von Guyen and bring an end to the battle. Taking a break from overseeing the fighting, Grimfist had demanded to see Gyrus but had made him wait before explaining his purpose. He hadn't even let him receive medical treatment, and his wounded side ached with each movement. He'd taken a hit from a Tau pulse rifle during a raid on the aliens' signal jammer.

"Sir," he said, and ignored the grating pain that accompanied his breathing, "I am not sure I understand. I was led to believe I would be disciplined."

"And you would be, if Jarfur had his way," Grimfist remarked. "But he's not Chapter Master."

"He _did_ tell you what happened, did he not?" Gyrus said, doubtfully. "That he . . ."

"Relax," Grimfist interrupted him, and gave a broad smile. "I know the situation and I have made my decision. If it was not for you, would probably be down thirty Astartes, and we wouldn't have been able to outflank the Tau tanks."

"But the siege here at the basilica . . ." Gyrus began.

"You do not need to make excuses for yourself, Marine," Grimfist told him. "And in any case, I would much rather fight the alien scum in person than let my men do it for me. We turned this building into an anvil, and they shattered their glass hammer upon it. Now they are on the back foot and we have been given a priceless opportunity. You deserve a reward."

Gyrus looked up at him curiously. He wore no helmet, so his features were clear to see, and there was a hint of pride in his kind eyes.

"There must be some benefit to you," Gyrus realised.

Grimfist laughed.

"I like you," he said, "So I will be honest. I want good men – men like you – to be the ones advancing up the ranks. That is not going to happen so long as you are under Jarfur's command. I could elevate you to Sergeant within his Third Company, but he will make sure you stop there. Instead, I am transferring you to the Second Company, to serve under Harlus."

Gyrus smiled back at him. The move was a lateral promotion rather than an upward one, but as Grimfist had pointed out, it would work out better for him in the long term.

"Master," he said, "I cannot thank you enough."

"You do not need to thank me at all," Grimfist said. "And do not worry about breaking the news to Jarfur; I will take care of that. There is a Thunderhawk incoming from orbit. I want you on it and back aboard ship where the Apothecaries can patch you up."

"Yes sir," Gyrus said, uneasily. "But I could fight on, if I was needed."

"Let us keep you out of Jarfur's way for a while, shall we?" Grimfist suggested.

Gyrus chuckled.

"Of course," he said.

The sound of screaming engines filled the basilica as the Thunderhawk Grimfist had promised swept down outside. Landing gear dropped from its underside and it touched down with a pneumatic hiss. Its front ramp opened and the warm glow of the crew compartment poured out over the cracked and broken cobblestones of the square.

A tall, lanky figure emerged from the crowd of aides and adjutants disembarking from the gunship. Farus, Chief Librarian of the White Knights, had a slim face, with dark eyes and neatly-arranged hair. He was eerily thin, especially for a Space Marine, but his energy did not come from muscles. Instead it was his psychic powers that animated his limbs. Unlike the two of them, he wore no suit of armour, just a flax tunic emblazoned with heraldry and histories of the Chapter. His eyes gleamed with an ethereal energy.

Grimfist and Gyrus came out of the basilica to meet him.

"Sanctus," he said.

Grimfist spread his arms.

"Farus," he replied, as they embraced warmly.

Gyrus had never met Farus before but he'd heard how close a relationship he shared with the Chapter Master. The two of them had fought aliens of all races across the Sagittarius Arm. Their friendship was immutable and unquestionable.

"And who is this?" Farus asked.

"This is Gyrus," Grimfist introduced him. "Newly promoted to the Second Company."

"Knowledge and faith," Farus said.

"Knowledge and faith," Gyrus returned, looking him up and down. There was something inherently unsettling about him, but that had been the case with every psyker Gyrus had ever encountered. Despite the unnerving aura he carried, he was still effortlessly charismatic.

"So you'll be serving under Harlus," he said, smoothly. "You are a lucky man."

"I would be honoured to serve under any leader," Gyrus told him. "But I am still lucky, yes."

"He is the one I told you about," Grimfist said, to Farus. "The Marine who saved three squads of the Third Company at the spaceport."

Farus gave a smile, but on his thin face it looked more like a grimace.

"I see," he said.

Gyrus frowned.

"You do not approve?" he asked.

"Most Librarians are conservative," Farus explained. "They closely guard their beliefs and never change them. You will find that I am different, as is Sanctus. Take the Lexicon as an example."

Gyrus nodded understandingly. The Lexicon was the White Knights' holy book, and all their traditions and customs revolved around it. Their first Chapter Master had written it, at least according to the legends they told. Whatever the truth, its word was law.

"The pen that wrote those sacred words," Farus said, "Was first put to paper millennia ago. The scribes and authors then could never have foreseen the troubles we face today. Consider the Tau; how are we meant to deal with them? The Lexicon certainly will not tell us, not explicitly. We must _interpret_ the text, not follow it to the letter."

"So you agree with my actions," Gyrus said.

"You did what was right, not what was correct," Farus replied, wryly. "If you follow."

"I think I do," Gyrus said.

Grimfist laid a hand on his armoured shoulder.

"Gyrus is injured," he said. "And I know he would love to remain here and discuss this further, but I would like him to seek treatment as soon as possible. I want him back in the fight if he is to properly earn his place in the Second Company."

"Naturally," Farus agreed.

Gyrus signed the Aquila to him.

"Until we meet again," he said.

Farus signed it back with a curt bow.

"Until then," he returned. "I am certain fate will bring us back together soon."

Gyrus said his goodbyes to Grimfist and retreated into the Thunderhawk's crew compartment. The ramp rose back into place behind him. Engines roared and a whirling downdraft filled the square as the gunship rose towards the metal roof far above. It throttled up and flew away, out of the hive and into the clear night sky.

"He is an intriguing one," Farus said, contemplatively.

Grimfist led him back towards the basilica.

"You think he has a part to play?" he asked.

"I do," Farus said. "But his exact role is yet unclear."

They stepped into the calm interior of the nave. It was almost empty of Marines now, with most of the Second and Third companies engaged in fighting around the city, but there were plenty of serfs working at their stations. Their chatter filled the echoing space.

"Sanctus," Farus said, frankly, "You know why I came down from orbit."

Grimfist looked at him seriously.

"I do," he said.

"There have been disturbances in the Etherium," Farus told him.

"What kind of disturbances?" Grimfist asked.

"The kind that do not bear ignoring," Farus said. "I think it is time we recognise the true evil we are facing here. Our enemies are not limited to the Tau. There are forces at work on Ulis that must be confronted." He reached up and massaged his forehead gently. "The future is more clouded now than it has been in a long time."

"Farus," Grimfist said, "What was Samovar doing here?"

Farus led him over to one of the workstations and unlocked it using his passcode. He downloaded an encrypted file and brought up a three-dimensional projection of what looked like a music box. It had ornate curving limbs and a wooden lid engraved with swirling golden patterns.

"This," Farus said, grandly, "Is the Casket of Tears."

Grimfist looked at it closely.

"Why was I not told of this earlier?" he said.

"It was only revealed to me within the last few hours," Farus explained. "When I reported to the Inquisition that von Guyen had unfortunately survived your encounter with him, they decided to make retrieval of the Casket their highest priority. He was sent here to find it."

"But let me guess," Grimfist said, dryly, "It corrupted him."

"Such is often the case," Farus lamented. "All humans, even Inquisitors, are vulnerable to some extent. Von Guyen thought he was strong enough to resist the pull of the artefact. He was wrong. His handlers have asked us to take the Casket into our custody and end von Guyen."

Grimfist said nothing. He leaned over the desk and examined the hologram, watching as it rotated in the air before him. He seemed deep in thought.

"Sanctus?" Farus said, concernedly. "Is something wrong?"

Grimfist shook his head slowly.

"This is getting more and more complicated," he tutted to himself. "We've gone from freeing the city from the Tau to a rogue Inquisitor and a Chaos conspiracy. Never mind the Casket; this is the first time we have heard of Tau coming under the influence of the Dark Gods."

"The xenos themselves are incorruptible," Farus said. "But they are not immune to persuasion. Von Guyen was a manipulative man _before_ he fell. Now he is capable of bending thralls to his will. We should be wary of that."

Again, Grimfist didn't reply. He was thinking once more.

"Jarfur was right," Farus ventured.

Grimfist turned to him.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"He hypothesised that von Guyen had fallen to Chaos and was using his newfound powers to manipulate the Tau," Farus told him. "And he then alerted me to his theory."

"He went over my head?" Grimfist said, angrily. "He should know better!"

"But he was right," Farus pointed out.

"Does that make a difference?" Grimfist said.

Farus laughed aloud.

"Of course it does," he said. "Gyrus broke regulations and you promoted him for it. If you want to retain Captain Jarfur's loyalty I suggest you hold him to the same standards as your new favourite."

"My new favourite," Grimfist grumbled. "You speak of him like a child."

"To you, he is," Farus observed. "And in any case, you should tread carefully around Jarfur. He remains your Third Company Captain. You cannot ignore that fact."

"I know," Grimfist said, with a nod.

Farus laid a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Sanctus," he said, "Do not forget what I said today. Samovar von Guyen is a man obsessed with control and domination. He will not limit the use of the powers he has gained to the Tau."

"You are saying it will be difficult to know who to trust," Grimfist realised.

"Even more difficult than usual," Farus said. "But I am certain that, with your wisdom and my counsel, we can find him and bring him to justice before first light."


	6. S1 E6: Executioner

Series I - Von Guyen

Episode VI - Executioner

 _Third Captain Jarfur of the White Knights has proposed a new theory: Samovar von Guyen is commanding the Tau using powers given to him by the Dark Gods. Although he went over Master Grimfist's head in proposing it to Chief Librarian Farus, there is evidence to support it. Farus has explained that von Guyen was sent to Ulis to recover the Casket of Tears, an ancient artefact of Chaos. Now it seems to have corrupted him. It appears he is far more dangerous than originally thought. This is ominous news for the White Knights, but it is even worse news for the squad of Imperial Guardsmen assigned to track him down._

Corporal Verrel was first into the hospital. He led the four Guardsmen under his command up the stone steps towards the entrance. Torches were mounted on their chests and blazed through the darkness. Their las-rifles were raised and ready. One by one, they cycled the single-person airlock to decontaminate themselves and stepped through into the gloom of the tall lobby. Verrel unclipped his surveyor and scanned the room.

"No contacts," he said. "Stand easy."

"Well," Trooper Leith said, "This is a horrible assignment, isn't it?"

Laughter broke the tension.

"Okay," Verrel said, "We are not here to make jokes."

"Sorry Corporal," Leith apologised. "I just wanted to lighten the mood. Places like these only creep you out if you let them."

"Well, I appreciate the thought at least," Verrel said. "You're with me, then. Lassa, Dunwright, Faeris – you three look around. Tell us if you find anything."

They acknowledged the order and split off, scouting around the room, checking for clues.

"So what's the deal here, anyway?" Leith asked, as he followed Verrel down the corridor to the waiting room at the other end.

"You know the brief," Verrel replied. "There have been reports from other units of Tau activity in this area. They claim to have sighted von Guyen. We're here to tell them they're wrong. The hospital wasn't fully evacuated before the aliens hit and the activity they've seen is probably just the patients."

"Basically, they're jumping at shadows," Leith said.

"Probably," Verrel agreed.

The door ahead hissed aside as they approached and they emerged into another darkened chamber. Their torches cut beams of light into the gloom. In a service cupboard were two generators, both turned off long ago.

"Here goes," Verrel said, and turned them on in turn.

Glow-strips in the ceiling crackled and fizzled into life. The faint hum of climate control systems filled their ears. Soon the waiting room began to grow warm.

"Perfect," Leith said, brightly.

"Let's get back," Verrel ordered.

He led Leith along the corridor and back into the lobby to meet the rest of the squad. The whole place was well lit now, but it yielded no insight into what had brought them there. Every window and door was intact and their scans revealed nothing. There was no sign of the patients.

"Sir," Faeris said, to Verrel, "We've done a full sweep. Nothing to report."

Lassa nodded at the other door.

"The wards are through there," he said. "If there are any patients left in the building, that's where we're going to find them."

"Good spot, Trooper," Verrel told him, and made for the door.

It didn't open when he approached. He broke the glass seal over the emergency release handle and pulled it with all his strength, but to no avail. He was just about to use a breeching charge when the hospital's intercom system gave a faint whine.

" _Hello?_ " came a quiet voice. " _Who's there?_ "

Verrel stepped back from the door.

"This is Corporal Verrel of the 21st Ulian Infantry Regiment," he said. "We're responding to reports of suspicious activity in this area. Identify yourself."

There was a brief pause.

" _My name is Rylan Maast_ ," the voice said.

"Corporal," Dunwright said, catching Verrel's attention, "Maast was the one who sent in the call to General Bannur."

"He doesn't seem concerned," Verrel remarked.

" _I'm sorry_ ," Maast sent over the intercom. " _What call?_ "

"Go ahead, Trooper," Verrel said to Dunwright.

"That's right," Dunwright said, speaking to thin air. "It was to General Bannur, our commander. He said you requested assistance. You claimed to have positively identified the rogue Inquisitor Samovar von Guyen as being at this location."

" _No, no_ ," Maast said. " _I would remember saying that._ "

"We have a recording of it," Dunwright offered.

"That's alright," Verrel cut in, before Maast could reply. "There's no need to argue. Rylan, how about you just open the door to the wards so we can come and talk face to face? We'll sort this out."

" _Of course_ ," Maast said. " _I think the activation panel is somewhere here . . . uh . . . perhaps you'd better give me a moment_."

The intercom chimed and fell silent.

"He definitely messaged the General," Dunwright insisted.

"I know," Verrel assured him. "This is getting a little strange. Weapons up, everyone."

As one, the squad raised their las-rifles. They fanned out around the door in a semicircle, ready to face whatever might be on the other side. As they watched, a holographic display lit up on its surface and began counting down from ten.

"Eyes front and centre," Verrel said. "I don't like this."

The countdown hit zero and the door slid open.

An elderly man in long white robes stood on the other side. His skin was pale and drawn, pulled tightly over the bones beneath. In one hand was a staff topped with a golden book, on which was emblazoned an open eye. Scrolls had been affixed to the handle of the staff with wax seals.

"Emperor's light," he gasped, seeing the weapons pointed at him. "What do you think you're doing? You said you were here to help!"

"Guns down," Verrel snapped.

His men lowered their rifles.

"I'm sorry," he apologised. "But we're not sure what to make of this. Are you Rylan Maast?"

"Yes," Maast said. "Who else would I be? Now, what do you want?"

"Well," Verrel said, "We wanted to check that everything was alright down here. I don't know whether you sent the message to General Bannur or not, but we definitely received _something_. A squad of Space Marines from the White Knights Chapter is standing by in case von Guyen is here."

"The Executioner?" Maast replied. "I don't know where he is."

"And the patients of the hospital?" Verrel pressed him.

Maast's eyes suddenly brightened and he took a step closer.

"Patients?" he said, smoothly. "Why yes, they're just perfect . . . why don't you come and see them? They'd like that a lot."

"Okay," Verrel said, slowly. "We'll follow you."

The squad dropped neatly into single file, raising their guns on a signalled command, and advanced deeper into the building with Maast in the lead. Their route took them through the wards, past empty beds with the sheets neatly arranged and the pillows fluffed. Everything looked completely normal. The only unlikely part of the equation was Maast himself.

"Yes," he muttered as they went, "We'll go see them."

Eventually they emerged into one of the hospital's laboratories. This room was larger than the others, two floors tall with arched windows looking out over the ruined city outside. In several places the glass had been smashed or cracked and shards covered the floor. There were no working lights.

Verrel checked his surveyor.

"There's been a chemical leak," he said. "Masks on."

They secured their gas masks in place.

"Rylan," Verrel said, to Maast, "It's not safe for you in here."

"Oh, it's quite safe," Maast said, distractedly. "No problems. No call to the General."

"You don't understand," Verrel repeated, louder this time. His voice was muffled and distorted by his mask. "The air isn't good to breathe."

"Quite safe," Maast repeated. He seemed faint. Within a few seconds, his eyes had rolled back in his pale safe. His staff clattered to the floor beside him as he slumped over a desk.

"Get him out of here," Verrel said.

Lassa slung his rifle over his back and hoisted Maast onto his shoulder. He carried him out into the corridor. The door hissed shut behind him.

"None of this makes any sense," Verrel said to himself.

Their torches turned off.

"What in the Emperor's name . . ?" Leith wondered, but he never finished his sentence.

There was a series of loud bangs as thick metal shutters descended over all the windows, immediately plunging the room into complete and utter blackness. A moment later came an ascending whine, quiet at first but soon increasing in volume, as if something was powering up. Then, without warning, the ultraviolet lamps on the lab desks came on.

Verrel's blood ran cold.

Every inch of the walls was covered in writing, all of it in a scrip he didn't recognise. Here and there were odd symbols and diagrams showing planets and star systems. Tendrils of light had been drawn reaching out to them and encircling them, pulling them in towards whirling storms. Above the entrance, written in bloody letters as tall as a man, were four words in Gothic.

"Joyous be your pain," Verrel said, feeling his breath catch in his throat.

"We have to get out," Leith said.

A low snarl came from the centre of the room.

They all span around, weapons raised, ready to fire.

Samovar von Guyen loomed over them. Glowing green eyes burned beneath his black hood. Two gnarled horns rose from his temples. He wore what had once been a set of Inquisition armour, with the symbols scratched off or corrupted. In each of his hands was a chainaxe. They revved hungrily as the Guardsmen looked on, rooted to the spot in fear.

"Go!" Verrel ordered, and their nerve broke.

"Death to the false Emperor!" von Guyen bellowed, his deafening voice echoing around the chamber. His old armour whirred and clanked, rusted motors straining along with his movements, as he whirled around and threw one of the revving chainaxes.

It caught Faeris on the shoulder, spinning him into the wall, and tore its way through his chest as he screamed aloud in agony.

Verrel made it the door. It didn't budge.

"Get it open!" Leith yelled, from somewhere behind him.

"I can't!" Verrel shouted back.

Trooper Dunwright was in the corner with nowhere to run. He was frantically forming the sign of the Aquila over and over. His rifle lay discarded at his feet.

A gauntlet closed tightly around his throat and lifted him off his feet.

He found himself staring into a pair of sunken green eyes.

"The Emperor protects," he whimpered.

"He never even knew you existed," von Guyen hissed, and crushed his throat with a crunch. He turned to Leith, his mechanical joints clicking angrily.

"Get it open!" Leith begged.

Verrel used the butt of his rifle to break the seal over the emergency release handle. He put the gun down and pulled, expecting as much success as the last time he'd tried. To his surprise the door slid open with barely any effort.

Rylan Maast was gone. He was never there. Instead Lassa's corpse lay on the floor with a burning hole in its temple. The Trooper had been goaded to suicide by a figment of his imagination.

"Help me!" Leith cried.

Verrel turned back just in time to see Leith ducking under a swipe from the Executioner's chainaxe. He turned back, wrested the rifle out of Lassa's dead hands and fired it.

The red needle caught von Guyen a glancing blow in the soft padding of his knee, between two thick armoured plates.

Leith saw his chance and ran.

Verrel was already halfway along the corridor. He stumbled into the wards and almost stopped in his tracks. The beds, which had been empty just a few minutes ago, were piled high with the corpses of the hospital's patients. There was blood everywhere. It was a few inches deep on the floor.

"Holy Terra," he gasped.

Then he was running again, sploshing through the thick blood, with Leith a few paces behind him. He didn't look back. He burst into the lobby, almost losing his balance with his sheer speed, to see the closed airlock before him. With shaking fingers he fumbled for his las-pistol. On the third try he dragged it from its holster and shot out the control panel for the airlock. Its two doors swung aside, and within a few short seconds he was outside in the road.

Footsteps came from behind him.

Samovar von Guyen was descending the steps, one hand reaching out for him.

His fingers trembling in fear, Verrel took aim with his pistol and squeezed the trigger as hard as he could. A line of pure red stabbed from the barrel of the gun. At the same time, a bolt of light seared his eyes. The otherworldly powers of Chaos had corrupted his sight.

"No," he choked, seeing clearly once more.

Trooper Leith dropped heavily to his knees, a sucking hole in his chest, his hand still pointing accusingly at Verrel. He took his last breath and collapsed in a limp heap.

"No," Verrel gasped again. "It can't be . . ."

The Executioner emerged from the airlock. He walked down the steps and stood over Leith.

"Such a shame," he tutted, and the wind carried his voice. "Witness the power of Chaos."

Verrel raised his pistol and fired.

The shot whipped straight through von Guyen's forehead.

"Still fighting?" von Guyen asked, piteously. "So misguided."

"Fine then," Verrel said. "Kill me."

Von Guyen shook his head.

"Someone has to survive," he explained. "To spread the message."

"I'm not spreading any message," Verrel spat at him.

"As you will," von Guyen shrugged, uncaringly. "It's too late now, anyway. Off you go, back to safety. See what good it'll do you. And as you go, remember the words of the Dark Gods. _Impurity shall be our armour. Hate shall be our weapon_."

Verrel holstered his pistol and stumbled away.

Von Guyen watched him.

" _Immortality_ ," he recited, closing his eyes, " _Shall be our reward._ "


	7. S1 E7: Riptide

Series I - Von Guyen

Episode VII - Riptide

 _Tempted by the very artefact he was sent to Fastunhive to retrieve, Samovar von Guyen has fallen to Chaos. But despite this startling revelation, he is now on the back foot. At great cost Corporal Verrel of the Ulian Imperial Guard has established his position. Now the White Knights are closing the net, and in force. With dawn nearly upon them, they will not let him escape once more. Sanctus Grimfist is leading the assault personally. And the Executioner awaits him._

The column of tanks rumbled up Fastunhive's main avenue towards the Governor's palace, their treads crunching over twisted Imperial and alien bodies alike. For almost three hours they had been tracking von Guyen, chasing him from the hospital through the city in a frantic game of cat-and-mouse. Slowly but surely, they were closing in.

Sanctus Grimfist heard the sound of heavy gunfire from inside the crew compartment of the Razorback he'd requisitioned. He recognised it as the distinctive low thudding of a Predator's main cannon. He stood and climbed up the ladder to lean out of the hatch.

The tank at the head of the column had pulled off the road and into a market plaza.

Grimfist used his mind to open a radio channel from his helmet.

"Lead," he sent, "This is the Chapter Master. Do you copy?"

" _We copy, Master_ ," came the reply. " _We've engaged a Tau light recon vehicle to the right_."

"Understood," Grimfist said. "We are coming through and deploying."

He barked an order to the driver and the Razorback swerved around, tracks slewing roughly on the uneven surface of the damaged road. Its engine revved, propelling it through a vendor's stall. Orange fruits and discarded bunches of vegetables flew in all directions as it smashed into the square.

Inside, the gunner scanned for hostiles through his targeting optics.

On the other side of the square was another of Fastunhive's many basilicas. To its right was a cloister, and hovering within it was a sleek, streamlined Tau skimmer.

The Predator ahead was already advancing towards it, wary of the danger from its hull-mounted plasma cannon. Its gun threw a superheated shell straight through the cloister wall and into the skimmer's right stabiliser.

It listed to one side, clearly off-balance, and the Razorback moved in for the kill. The battle was over in a flash as a second round slammed into its engine block. A shower of sparks erupted into the air and it exploded. Flames belched from the wreckage.

The Razorback's complement of Marines thumped out into the open as its rear ramp lowered.

Grimfist climbed out of the hatch and dropped down to the ground to meet them by the fountain in the centre of the plaza.

From another Razorback came Second Captain Harlus, leading a squad of his own.

The tanks fanned out, securing the perimeter.

" _Sir_ ," came a call to Grimfist, " _We havegot signs of life inside the church. Requesting permission to advance through the front wall_."

"Permission denied," Grimfist said. "If this is von Guyen, I want him to myself."

He beckoned to the Marines and they followed him through the hole in the cloister wall. The remains of the Tau skimmer were burning in the grassy courtyard ahead. Around the corner was a tall wooden door leading to the basilica that towered over them. They lined up beside it.

Harlus had been listening in on the radio chatter as they went, and he signalled to Grimfist.

"It appears there are Imperial Guard reinforcements on the way," he said. "General Bannur is coming personally to oversee the assault."

"That bureaucrat is trying to steal our glory," Grimfist remarked.

Harlus nodded his agreement.

"Yes sir," he said. "The General claims that since it was his men who found von Guyen at the hospital, he should be the one to kill him."

"What is his ETA?" Grimfist asked.

"Twenty minutes," Harlus said. "He is bringing armour with him."

"Then we have to kill von Guyen before he gets here," Grimfist decided.

Bannur was executing a trademark Imperial Guard tactic, refusing to infiltrate or gather intelligence on the enemy position and instead saturating it with tanks and infantrymen until the enemy's defences were worn down.

Grimfist took a certain degree of pride in knowing he had the chance to show the Guard how effective the Knights' methods could be. He leaned close to the door and his helmet's autosenses magnified the noises coming from the other side.

Tau voices filtered through to him, hushed and urgent.

With a nod from Harlus, the Marines opened fire with their bolters, shredding the door easily and bringing the wall down in several places.

They were answered by plasma bolts from inside, flashing past and dinging vainly off their armour. The basilica was well-defended.

Grimfist kept his head down low as he advanced into the nave. A few shots whipped past just above him. He ignored them.

As he went, Harlus' Second Company Marines kept up a withering hail of fire, mowing down any xenos that tried to close in on them as they poured through from the cloisters.

A Tau footsoldier swung its rifle at Grimfist, coming out of the corner of his vision.

He parried it with his power sword and took the gun with his free hand. Wielding it like a club, he knocked the alien out cold.

" _Master Grimfist_ ," came a familiar voice in his ear, " _This is General Bannur_."

"Greetings, General," he sighed, drawing his bolt pistol and idly putting two shots through the chest of an alien to his right. A bolt of plasma narrowly missed his shoulderpad and he swung round to find its source.

More xenos were coming down the nave. They had committed nearly all their remaining forces to defending their heretical leader.

Grimfist muted his radio.

"Move up!" he snapped to a nearby group of Marines.

They raised their bolters and waded through the flickering Tau volleys towards the altar.

One of them recoiled as a bolt of blue sank into the soft padding beneath his helmet. Blood poured down his white armour. He slumped against a pillar.

Grimfist looked away to find a new target and saw another Marine blown off his feet by a pulse grenade. The force of the blast tore his armour open, as well as the chest cavity beneath.

" _We are taking casualties_ ," Harlus reported.

Grimfist ignored him, ducking behind a thick stone pillar.

"General Bannur," he said. "What could you possibly want?"

" _I want Samovar von Guyen_ ," Bannur growled. " _Alive_."

"The Inquisition was unequivocal," Grimfist said. "He is to be killed."

" _Don't make this seem like it's out of your hands_ ," Bannur snapped. " _We both know you want him dead. But after what he did to my men . . . I want him to suffer_."

"Oh, do not worry," Grimfist assured him. "I will make sure he suffers plenty."

" _You underestimate him,_ " Bannur warned. " _Remember, there's the . . ._ "

Grimfist ended the call before he could finish.

"Captain!" he called across the nave to Harlus, who was also using a pillar for cover. "We are letting them bog us down! Let us go!"

"You read my mind," Harlus said, with a smile. "Knowledge and faith!"

"Knowledge and faith!" Grimfist roared.

The two of them burst out into the open and charged up the nave, power swords humming and bolt pistols snapping as they sent a volley of explosive rounds into the Tau ranks.

Behind them came the White Knights. Their lenses identified and synched targets and they laid down carefully coordinated lanes of fire as they went.

Grimfist was the first one to plough into the alien lines. He raised the Hand of Russala, his personal power sword, and beheaded the first enemy he saw. Combat knives and rifles came at him from all angles but he shrugged off the blows as he carved a bloody path through the press. Each broad swipe was another two or three kills. The blade crackled and sparks of electricity danced along its length as it rose and fell, claiming life after life.

Harlus wasn't going to let his Chapter Master take all the credit. He was fighting alongside him, his own sword up and at the ready. Its searing edge cut a plasma rifle clean in two and slashed down the front of the alien holding it.

Within moments the rest of the Marines met the Tau and the battle was soon settled. Hot blue blood pooled on the floor of the basilica. A few white-armoured corpses were dotted among a carpet of orange. The gunfire stopped and the last echoes faded. As the chaos subsided the full measure of the devastation became clear. Every wall was dotted with bullet holes and several of the building's windows had been blown out by stray rounds. The air was thick with the stench of death and spent munitions.

"Well fought, my brothers!" Grimfist said.

A jubilant cheer went up from the Knights around him.

Harlus picked his way between the corpses to the Chapter Master.

"My lord," he said, breathing heavily. "It is almost sunrise."

Grimfist looked around.

"No sign of Samovar," he lamented. "But what a glorious day for the Imperium."

"We have broken them," Harlus said. "Fastunhive is ours."

Their radios crackled.

"That will be General Bannur," Grimfist said. "I am sick of speaking to him. Tell him I am celebrating with my men. Make him understand."

"Yes sir," Harlus nodded.

Grimfist beckoned to the other Marines and they circled up to offer a prayer of thanks for their victory. Their chant filled the basilica.

Harlus took the incoming call.

"This is Second Company Captain Harlus of the White Knights," he said.

" _I need to speak to your Chapter Master_ ," Bannur demanded.

Harlus shook his head.

"We have eliminated the last of the Tau at the basilica on the top level," he said. "The Master is occupied giving thanks to the Emperor. Surely you would not want to disturb him?"

" _Tell him the Tau aren't done_ ," Bannur said, urgently. " _That if you'd take a second to think, you'd realise you were walking straight into a trap_."

Inside his helmet, Harlus' face paled.

"Sir!" he cried. "You need to hear this!"

Grimfist looked up.

And the rear wall of the basilica exploded inwards in a blinding flash of blue light. Through the shower of masonry and dust came a looming armoured figure, three times the height of the Marines. Its helmet, complete with targeting strobes that blazed through the b=gloom, almost scraped the rafters of the basilica. Each steep it took cracked the tiled floor and shook the building.

Harlus was the only one spared from the blast. His advanced reactions kicked in and he rolled away, putting a pillar between him and the Tau construct. A quick glance out allowed his helmet lenses to scan it and tell him what he was looking at.

It was an XV104 Riptide Battlesuit, one of the most advanced war machines in the galaxy. Its immense size belied its mobility; it was almost as nimble as the Astartes. In place of its right hand was an ion accelerator, a cannon that could tear apart power armour with ease, and held in the gigantic mechanised fingers of its left hand was a huge circular shield. The pilot was far away, controlling it remotely from a safe location.

"Emperor protect me," he quickly prayed, before stitching a perfectly neat line of bullet-holes up the Battlesuit's right shin.

Reactors whined as it span around.

Harlus threw himself to the ground.

The ion accelerator sent a lance of blistering blue over his head. It vaporised the stone pillar and carried on through the wall of the basilica, smashing apart the ancient stone columns of the cloisters beyond. The noise from the shot took some time to fade.

By then, Harlus was in cover again, behind another pillar. The data scrolling across his heads-up display told him that the Battlesuit's advanced sensors couldn't distinguish the adamantium of his power armour from the cold stone he was pressed up against. He couldn't move or make any sound for fear of attracting its attention.

But Sanctus Grimfist had no such fear.

"Samovar!" he called. "Face me, you foul heretic!"

There was an awful pause.

With the hissing of motors and mechanised joints, the Battlesuit turned. It looked down at him. Even in his suit, he barely came up to its knees.

" **Sanctus** ," rumbled a deep voice from the speakers in its shoulders. " **We meet again**."

"No more games, Samovar," Grimfist said. "Let us finish this."

" **It would be my pleasure** ," von Guyen replied.

The Battlesuit raised its ion accelerator, aiming it straight at Grimfist.

And the whole world exploded.


	8. S1 E8: Before the Dawn

Series I - Von Guyen

Episode VIII - Before the Dawn

 _At long last, Samovar von Guyen has been found. He has sought refuge in a large basilica complex on Fastunhive's highest level. Master Grimfist personally confronted him, only to find him in command of a powerful Riptide Battlesuit. Now the trap has been sprung and the tables have turned. But Grimfist is about to discover that he has an unlikely saviour, and events will be set in motion that will have dire consequences in the years to come._

The Battlesuit raised its ion accelerator, aiming it straight at Grimfist.

And the whole world exploded.

A shimmering sphere of golden light surrounded Grimfist and the blinding blue lance from the accelerator slammed into it. The energy of the shot was forcefully dissipated. A shockwave tore through the basilica, obliterating everything in its path. One by one the thick stone pillars were blasted into millions of tiny fragments. The arching wooden doors at the end were blown off their hinges. Every window within a mile of the building was shattered instantly.

Motors whined in protest as the Battlesuit was sent staggering backward, its flailing arm drawing a long gash in the basilica's wall as it fell to the ground. The force of its landing lifted a carpet of dust off the tiles.

While the noise and the light were gone, a new figure had appeared.

Chief Librarian Farus stood in front of Grimfist, clad in a suit of dark blue armour with a shining white shoulderpad. In place of his helmet was a psychic hood that rose from the backplate of his suit and was linked to his forehead by snaking tubes and pipes. Held across his front was his staff of office, gold script spiralling up its hilt and a golden chalice at its head. Shimmering bolts of ethereal energy flickered across his face from his glowing eyes.

"Just in time, brother," Grimfist said.

Farus turned to him.

"Von Guyen still lives," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Then we finish this ourselves," Grimfist said.

The Marines around them began picking themselves up and surveying the damage. They ran scans for injuries and suffused their bodies with stimulants if necessary. Bolters click-clacked as they were cocked and loaded in anticipation of the coming battle.

Farus whirled around, staff raised, at a noise from across the basilica.

"Second Captain," he said, in relief.

Harlus walked over to him.

"Chapter Master," he said, smartly. "Chief Librarian."

"Captain," Grimfist returned. "I want you to take the survivors to safety. This is not their fight."

"Sir," Harlus said, "You cannot win this alone."

"But I am not alone," Grimfist pointed out. "Farus and I can handle Samovar."

Harlus nodded.

"Yes sir," he said, and beckoned to the Marines. "Second Company! Form up and establish a perimeter. We are not letting the Executioner escape again."

They quickly moved out, and soon the interior of the basilica fell silent once more.

Grimfist and Farus walked over to the unmoving Battlesuit. For all they knew, von Guyen could be inside it. Finding him might simply a matter of cracking it open to get at the pilot's compartment.

As they climbed onto its chest, its left arm twitched and whirred.

"Steady," Grimfist cautioned.

"It is residual power," Farus said. "See that?"

Grimfist looked. He was indicating the detachable node mounted to the Battlesuit's immense left shoulder. It was clamped firmly into place.

"I see it," he said.

"That is a dark matter reactor," Farus explained. "We have been documenting them for some time now. They are highly unstable while damaged. So long as it is in place, there is a chance it could go critical and take us with it."

"So I will detach it," Grimfist concluded.

"I shall keep watch for von Guyen," Farus said.

Grimfist stepped down off the Battlesuit's thick metal arm and walked around to the reactor. It was hissing and humming faintly.

Farus remained on its chest, monitoring the hatch to make sure it stayed closed. For all the powers at his disposal, he still felt uneasy. Between the volatile dark matter, the Tau, von Guyen and the Casket presumably in his possession, there were too many factors at work for him to predict the outcome of the situation.

Grimfist was examining the clamps that held the reactor. They were firmly secured. He sheathed the Hand of Russala and began prising the first one out of its place. It was hard work, but using his power armour he was able to peel it away.

"One down," he grunted.

"No sign of movement," Farus reported, his eyes still fixed on the closed hatch.

Grimfist nodded and set to work on the second of the six clamps.

"Done," he said. He boosted his power levels even further.

A slow clap echoed through the basilica.

Both Farus and Grimfist quickly turned.

Samovar von Guyen strolled nonchalantly through the hole the Battlesuit had left in the wall. Like in the hospital, he had dropped his human disguise, making the full extent of his corruption clear. The curling horns sprouting from his temples gleamed in the light. Long black robes flowed smoothly around his steel-capped boots. Green eyes blazed from beneath his hood.

"You found me," he said.

"Sanctus," Farus said, without looking away from von Guyen. "The reactor is . . ."

"I know," Grimfist replied. "You will have to face him. I need to defuse it."

"I will do you proud," Farus promised.

"Ugh," von Guyen groaned. "How sickening."

Farus stepped down off the Battlesuit's chest and walked along the nave to meet him.

"You call it sickening," he said, "And I call it loyalty. But then, that is not a concept you are familiar with, is it?"

"Oh, very good," von Guyen chuckled. "Is that how you justify it to yourself? When you realised your powers, when you truly comprehended what you were capable of, did you dream of one day using them to _serve_?"

"It is my honour," Farus told him.

"Honour is overrated," von Guyen spat, and fired a hissing beam of dark energy at him.

Farus blocked it with a shield of light.

Von Guyen wasn't deterred. He conjured up a cloud of swirling smoke. A wicked-looking chainaxe materialised within it and dropped into his outstretched hand.

"This is it," he said. "No running away."

"You have run from us every other time," Farus pointed out, mockingly.

Von Guyen snarled and charged at him.

The chainaxe met the staff with a roar of whirling teeth and a shower of white-hot sparks. A screeching sound filled the basilica as they slid off each other.

Farus took the initiative once the stalemate was broken. He stepped back and swung the staff around, catching von Guyen a glancing blow on the shoulder.

He recoiled and came back at him, slicing viciously with the chainaxe.

Farus sidestepped left, right and left again. Each time the teeth whirled past within an inch from his adamantium breastplate.

Von Guyen sent another pitch-black beam in his direction.

Again, he blocked it with a shield. It was deflected upwards, towards the ceiling high above them, and detonated amongst the rafters with a deafening boom. The basilica groaned and shook. With no pillars to hold it up, the roof began to crack.

"You will bring this building down," Farus warned. "And both of us along with it."

"Do you think I care if I live or die?" von Guyen said. "I am but a cog in the war machine of Chaos. All of this means nothing to the Dark Gods. They have plans beyond your imagining."

"Tell me," Farus demanded.

Von Guyen's eyes flashed maliciously.

"Be careful what you wish for," he hissed.

Reality blinked and his chainaxe disappeared. In its place was the Casket of Tears, looking exactly like the holograms and data files had depicted it. Von Guyen opened its lid and slithering tendrils of darkness wound from it.

Farus tried to move but found himself fixed in place. The tendrils wrapped around him. Slowly but surely, his vision faded until there was only the void. A new world started to appear. He was standing in a nave, but it was not the one he had left. Soaring over his head was a gigantic cathedral, and through its arched windows were the distant stars of space. He was aboard the _Glory of Russala_ , the flagship of the White Knights' navy. And then, to his horror, the familiar scene began to change. The walls cracked and crumbled. Windows shattered. The body of a Marine appeared on the floor, then another, and another, until he was looking out across a sea of corpses.

"No," he said, in shock. "It cannot be."

"All this will come to pass," replied von Guyen, his voice seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. "And the blame will be yours."

"This is not the future I see," Farus said.

"It is the future you will build," von Guyen said.

"You are lying!" Farus shouted, summoning his psychic powers. He felt the vision falling away as he dropped back into the real world.

"Go ahead," von Guyen said. "Deny what you want the most. It matters not."

Farus closed his eyes and fell through a tear in the fabric of the universe. He landed back on the floor of the basilica. Above him was a whirling vortex of energy, a portal through which he could see the horrific world he had pulled himself from.

Von Guyen stood over him.

"Whether you like it or not," he said, smoothly, "You have changed."

" _Nothing_ has changed!" Farus retorted, his armour whirring and clicking as it pulled him up. "I defied that apparition and I will defy you!"

"Very well, then," von Guyen said. "Do what you must."

"Chaos take you!" Farus cursed, and whirled the staff around. Its hilt slammed into von Guyen's chest with a percussive crack, splitting his breastplate in two.

He doubled over and staggered backwards. When he straightened up, his face was pale and drawn like it had been before he truly fell to the Dark Gods. His eyes no longer glowed.

"My powers abandon me," he said, smugly. "My masters know I have fulfilled my purpose."

"You have no purpose!" Farus cried defiantly, and struck him again.

There was the snap of breaking bones.

Von Guyen collapsed to the floor.

Farus was on him in an instant, bringing the staff down again and again, sending splatters of hot blood out across the tiles. When he finally managed to calm himself, he was covered in blood and his chest was rising and falling heavily.

From von Guyen's mouth came a hollow laugh.

"Don't fight it, Farus," he choked out. "Give in to your temptations."

Farus brought a boot down on his neck, crushing it into nothingness. The act brought him no satisfaction. If anything, he was feeling drained. He dropped his staff with a clang and sank to his knees.

"Farus!" Grimfist called, from the other end of the nave. "The reactor is free. Is it done?"

He didn't have the strength to reply.

Tendrils of smoke crept from the portal and bore him aloft, dragging him towards it.

He closed his eyes.

Grimfist did the only thing he could do. He activated the reactor and threw it.

It sailed along the nave, rotating slowly as it went, propelled aloft by Grimfist's immense muscles and the force of his hulking armour. Lights blinking to indicate a critical core overload, it passed over Farus' limp form and into the portal.

Grimfist raised his bolt pistol and fired.

The portal detonated with the force of a bomb as the rift destabilised. A hail of tiles and stone masonry exploded outwards from it in all directions. It shredded the rafters far above and the roof began to fall. With a long, drawn-out groan, the entire basilica came down. The walls collapsed in on themselves, throwing up a giant plume of dust as they went. Soon all that remained of the building was a rubble-strewn field of desolation.

Grimfist rose from the wreckage. His white armour was streaked with grey but it had done its job and kept him safe despite the sheer weight of debris that had buried him. He waded through the loose stones to where Farus had been and began digging down to reach him.

Harlus was there a moment later, along with a group of Second Company Marines.

"Can you see him?" he asked.

"Here," Grimfist said.

He hauled Farus' unmoving body into the open. Their suits synched on a mental command and Farus' vital statistics appeared on his heads-up display.

"Thank the Emperor," he said. "He is alive."

"Calling for immediate evac now," Harlus said, opening a radio channel.

Grimfist nodded. Farus would survive, the readouts told him, though he'd need some attention from the Chapter's Apothecaries. He beckoned for a pair of the Marines to attend to him and left him in their capable hands. Within minutes the sound of engines was echoing out across the remains of Fastunhive as a Thunderhawk gunship swept down from the skies. Grimfist waited while Farus was loaded carefully onto it and watched, a broad smile on his face, as it climbed away, the first light of dawn gleaming off its wings.


	9. S1 E9: Sensitive Materials

Series I - Von Guyen

Episode IX - Sensitive Materials

 _Samovar von Guyen is dead. The Tau Empire's crusade against Ulis is not yet over but for now, the White Knights have won a decisive victory. And yet Sanctus Grimfist is to be found in a contemplative mood. He is thinking over the events he watched unfold and developing a plan. He knows there is more bloodshed to come. This chapter in the White Knights' history is not over._

"It was on Russala," Grimfist said. "It is a funny story, really. Kandras was Chapter Master back then, and I was First Captain. We had just won a victory in the campaign against the greenskins and we decided to celebrate with a hunt. We were out looking for wind-catchers, reptiles that curl up into balls and use fins to carry themselves along. So we found one hiding at the base of a narrow gulley, where it was safe from the clouds. Our bolters could not get through that hide and we had to tempt it into uncurling. When it was exposed, we opened up on it, but it was too quick. It singled me out. One of its talons got past my grasp, and that was how I lost my eye. Before I knew it, half of my vision was gone and those claws were stabbing at me. One of them sliced half of my chin off. Another took my scalp. There was blood in my good eye."

Harlus took another sip of wine.

"What happened?" he asked.

The corners of Grimfist's mouth twisted upwards slightly into a faint smile.

"Farus," he said, quietly. "Suddenly, the claws were gone. The pain was still there, but I dulled it with stimulants. I knew I would be fine. And standing over me was this shining figure. I can still see the sunlight from Watchman glinting off his shoulderpads. We had not worn helmets, so I could make out the harsh, firm expression he wore. And in that moment, as he reached out to take my hand and the beast writhed and bled to death behind him, we became friends. I was so busy thanking him that I didn't let him get a word in edgeways. When he spoke, he did not say much. _That was not very wise, Captain_ , he scorned. _Next time you are thinking of doing something like that, consult me first_. And from that day on, I always have."

Harlus looked at him curiously, not knowing what to say. He'd never seen his Chapter Master so vulnerable. In the end, he finished his wine and smacked his lips.

"Well," he said. "That was delicious."

"Harlus," Grimfist said, delicately, "I would rather you did not relay that story to anyone."

"Of course," Harlus nodded. "As you command, my lord."

There was a knock on the door.

Harlus hurriedly stood to answer it, wanting to put the conversation behind him. Grimfist had been especially introspective since Farus had sustained his injuries on Ulis. All he'd done was ask a simple question about how the two of them had begun their friendship and it had turned into a winding story that showed him a side of the Master he didn't know existed. He crossed the ornately decorated office and opened the wooden doors. On the other side was the nave of the huge cathedral aboard the _Glory of Russala_ , the Knights' flagship. A flight of stairs led down from the office to the patterned floor, and waiting on them was a line of serfs and attendants with issues to bring to Grimfist's attention.

Farus himself stood on the landing at the top.

"Captain," he said, warmly.

"Chief Librarian," Harlus returned, and drew him into a tight embrace. "It is so good to see you on your feet again."

They broke apart.

"Two days in bed are enough for me," Farus remarked. He pointed past Harlus. "Is he . . ?"

"He is expecting you, yes," Harlus said. "You do not mind if I join you for the beginning of your meeting, do you? I came here with something to say and I have not yet had the chance to say it."

"By all means," Farus smiled.

Harlus led him back through the doors, closing them behind him.

Grimfist looked up from his desk. He was framed by the starlight pouring through the three grand, arched windows behind him. Between them hung Chapter banners displaying the Knights' histories and heraldry. He had been examining a set of ancient star-charts.

"Farus," he said, as he rose to his feet. "By the Emperor, I am happy you are here."

"As am I," Farus replied.

Harlus was newly aware of the depth of their friendship, and he didn't want to get in the way. He cleared his throat politely.

"My lord," he said to Grimfist, "I came to discuss the promotion of the Marine Gyrus from the Third to the Second Company."

"Ah yes," Grimfist recalled. "He saved three squads at the spaceport."

"I was not disputing the decision, sir," Harlus assured him. "I am only asking whether you would ever reconsider it. I actually rather like Gyrus, but surely Captain Jarfur . . ."

"Jarfur will do as he is told," Grimfist said, and there was a steely edge to his voice.

"I am sure he will," Harlus said. "Only . . ."

"Was there anything else?" Grimfist cut in.

There was a tense pause.

"No, sir," Harlus said.

"Good," Grimfist said. "Then if you would care to excuse me, I would like a chance to have a one-on-one conversation with my Chief Librarian now he has recovered from his wounds."

"Yes sir," Harlus said, smartly. He strode out of the office.

"Sanctus," Farus ventured, once the doors were closed, "You know you have my support, but I would not put anything _too_ drastic into place without consulting the . . ."

"Wine?" Grimfist said, abruptly.

If Farus was surprised or offended by the interruption, he didn't show it.

"Yes," he said.

Grimfist poured him a glass from the decanter on the desk and handed it over.

"Two hundred and fifty years, Farus," he said, raising his own glass. "That is how long we have served together. I think that deserves a toast."

They toasted and drank deeply.

"And in all that time," Grimfist went on, "Have you ever known me not to have a plan?"

Farus smiled.

"You intend to win Jarfur's loyalty," he said.

"I do," Grimfist nodded.

"And how will you do that?" Farus asked. He put his wine down on the desk and leaned over it. "You must remember what happened after Master Kandras' death. Do you recall how the two of you wanted to succeed him? How you duelled Jarfur?"

"What is done is done," Grimfist snapped. "I will not be held to account for decisions taken a very long time ago."

"But those decisions have relevance today," Farus said. "Because you sent Jarfur down to the Third Company so he could not rise up and stab you in the back. What makes you think he will want to listen to you now, especially since you have just promoted his new punching bag?"

Grimfist picked his glass up once more and took another sip, then held it in his hand and looked into it contemplatively.

"This time," he said, "I will be speaking his language."

"His language?" Farus prompted.

"The only one he understands," Grimfist said. "Conflict."

Farus said nothing.

Grimfist stood up and crossed to the wall, where a chart outlining the organisation of the Chapter had been nailed up.

"What do you intend to do?" Farus said.

Grimfist retrieved a data-slate from the sideboard. He unlocked it and opened one of the messages he'd received after the victory in Fastunhive.

"Since we dealt with von Guyen and handled some extremely sensitive materials," he said, "There is an Inquisitor coming to visit us. Josephine Orrick. She wants us to prove our loyalty by showing how we discipline Marines."

Farus tilted his head up slightly.

"You intend to offer Gyrus up to her," he said.

"Jarfur will jump at the opportunity to have the man who broke the rules under his command sent off for punishment," Grimfist said. "The Inquisition will not hesitate to execute Gyrus and call the matter settled. I will call a meeting of the White Council and instruct Harlus to offer Gyrus a place on the grounds of good performance. At the meeting, Jarfur will argue that we should give Gyrus up."

"And when we find him _innocent_ ," Farus said, "Jarfur will be broken."

"Precisely," Grimfist agreed. "That is when I will offer him a mission, something important enough for him to feel he is wanted. I shall break him down and build him up again to ensure his loyalty. We will need it in the years to come."

There was silence while Farus evaluated his plan.

"You realise you are putting the outcome in the hands of someone else," he said. "Marines must earn their places at the White Council. If you _order_ Harlus to bring Gyrus to it, Jarfur will see through you. Gyrus must prove himself on Ulis."

"I know," Grimfist said.

"Do you think he will meet our expectations?" Farus said.

Grimfist closed the data-slate and put it down.

"I am certain of it," he said.

"What if _he_ uncovers this?" Farus said.

"He will not," Grimfist told him, and pointed to him. "I want you acting as my right hand in this. Make sure that when the time comes, you are ready to defend Gyrus against Jarfur's accusations. Do not let Jarfur swing the other Captains around to his view."

Farus nodded.

"When are we putting all this into place?" he said.

"Rightaway," Grimfist said.

He sat behind the desk once more and tapped a few buttons on the cogitator before him. Its emitters whirred, projecting a three-dimensional image of a planet into the air in the middle of the room. The faint light from the hologram flickered on the walls.

"Ulis," Farus said, recognising it.

"Long-range scanners picked up an inbound Tau fleet some hours ago," Grimfist said. "They are showing their hand at last. Their first wave fell under von Guyen's spell and they wasted a lot of resources on the invasion. Now we are in the fight, they have decided to give us all they have got. I am assigning the Second Company to secure strategic locations on the surface of the planet."

Farus examined the schematic for a moment. He drank the last of his wine.

"I do not want any complications," Grimfist ordered.

"Of course, Sanctus," Farus said. "I will make sure everything plays out as you have indicated."

"Good," Grimfist said.

Farus put his glass down on the desk and crossed to the doors. A thought occurred to him before he could swing them open. He turned back.

"Sanctus," he said, "When you told me we were handling extremely sensitive materials, you meant the Casket, did you not?"

Grimfist didn't reply.

Farus shook his head slowly.

"You know you can trust me with it," he said.

"I saw through the portal," Grimfist explained. "The vision it showed you was . . ." He trailed off, unable to find the words. "Let us just say I do not like having it on my ship, and leave it at that."

"It is in good keeping," Farus said, and opened the doors.

"Yes," Grimfist said. "But I know what artefacts like that can do to people. I am putting my faith in your ability to protect it and guard it."

"There is nothing to be concerned about," Farus assured him, as he swung the doors closed. "I will not let it out of my sight."


	10. S2 E1: As You Command

Series II - Rising Star

Episode I - As You Command

 _Ulis is a warzone once more. Stung by the loss of their expeditionary force to the manipulation of Samovar von Guyen and its subsequent eradication, the Tau Empire has struck back hard. Thousands upon thousands of xeno warriors have laid siege to the capital of Fastunhive and this time their offensive has broadened into the planet's countryside as well. No target is safe. It is against this backdrop that Gyrus, newly promoted to the Second Company despite disobeying Third Captain Jarfur, must struggle to find his footing among his new comrades._

Aurora III rose over the planet Ulis every twenty-nine hours, bathing its starward side in rays of concentrated radiation. It was a harsh star, thrashing in its death throes and merciless to the worlds unlucky enough to be orbiting it. There were twelve of these, most of them gas giants with huge plumes of nitrogen extending from behind them, blown out by Aurora's fury. Only one occupied the habitable zone between two and three hundred million miles from the system's core. Ulis had been under Imperial rule for thousands of years, and it had seen many changes in that time. Its savage tribes had been subdued and exterminated, its indigenous wildlife hunted to extinction. Giant manors and estates had taken the place of forests and jungles, and entire continents had been reduced to little more than endless seas of fields. It had flourished, and the population had blossomed. Then the Warp storm came, and changed everything. Contact with the Astronomican was lost in a matter of hours. The supply ships stopped coming, as did all word from the rest of the galaxy. By the time the wrath of the Etherium had passed, Ulis was a shadow of its former self. The cities either fell into civil war or were abandoned by citizens searching vainly for a better life elsewhere. That made it a prime target for the Tau Empire.

"Sir," Gyrus said, closing the log file and turning to his Sergeant, "I have it. The cowardly xenos have swept in and taken control of a defenceless world. Nothing we haven not seen before."

Piraeus smiled as best he could as he took the auspex from Gyrus and set it down on a table. His face was scarred and twisted permanently into a grimace. He had several neural implants in his forehead, circles of smooth metallic grey set in rings of shining blue. He was gaunt, and Gyrus imagined that he must once have been considered handsome. Any semblance of his past looks was gone, however, hidden behind high cheekbones and a metal chin with slats in it for ventilation. When he opened his mouth, Gyrus could see right down his throat and make out pistons instead of vocal cords. His voice was deep and slightly artificial, as if it was a machine speaking and he was simply feeding it instructions.

"Knowledge is power, brother," he said. "Knowledge and . . ."

"Faith," Gyrus finished. "I am aware of that, sir."

"Good," Piraeus said, "Because I expect you and the rest of the squad to be fully briefed and ready for insertion to the surface when the time comes."

The two of them were standing in Gyrus' quarters aboard the _Last Hope of the Weary_ , a medium-sized strike cruiser playing host to the Chapter's Second Company, the Spearheads. The five-kilometre ship was long and thin, styled to resemble a gothic cathedral. It had a domed bridge, supported by flying buttresses and flanked by tapering spires. The prow, which came to a sharp point, had two intake grilles set into it.

Gyrus' staterooms boasted windows looking out into space. They gave a brilliant view of Ulis, rotating slowly and glowing in Aurora's light.

"And brother," Piraeus went on, "Captain Harlus wants to see you as soon as possible."

"Why, sir?" Gyrus asked.

"I do not know," Piraeus said. "You will have to find out for yourself."

"Understood," Gyrus nodded. "Thank you for coming down."

Piraeus signed the Aquila.

Gyrus returned the gesture.

"I also wanted to congratulate you on your promotion from the Third Company," Piraeus added. "You are the White Knights' rising star . . . but this comes with a warning, Astarte. Soldiers in my squad follow the orders they are given."

Gyrus frowned.

"I do not know what you mean," he lied.

"You disobeyed Third Captain Jarfur," Piraeus said.

"Sir," Gyrus said, "I saved thirty men."

Piraeus shook his head.

"Be that as it may," he said, "Rules are rules. There is no place for excuses."

"I will not accept that," Gyrus told him. "It was not an excuse, it was an explanation."

"You will _have_ to accept it," Piraeus replied.

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds.

"The control room," Piraeus ordered. "Now."

"As you command," Gyrus said.

Piraeus turned and left.

The door automatically slid shut behind him.

Gyrus tutted to himself and raised a finger to his ear. With no suit on he lacked the ability to make radio calls with his mind, but he could still use the microbead implanted beneath his skin. Marines were never cut off from their commanders. That would be disastrous in the field.

"Captain Harlus," he sent, "Do you hear me?"

" _Right here, Gyrus,_ " Harlus replied, his voice seeming to come from inside Gyrus' head.

"I am on my way to you," Gyrus told him.

" _Excellent_ ," he said." _I anticipate your arrival._ "

The corridor outside the staterooms was well-lit and led away in both directions. Gyrus turned towards the engines, passing a couple of Astartes on his journey. A short way down the passage was a lift. He called it and waited patiently. The shutters eventually parted, revealing a crewman with a box cradled in his arms.

He stepped aside for Gyrus and quickly hurried away, not wanting to attract unwanted attention and risk punishment. Even among their allies, the Adeptus Astartes – or the Space Marines, to give them a moniker they had spent millennia resenting – were regarded as young gods to be feared and obeyed. To anyone else it would have been a curious and cumbersome existence, but Gyrus was more than a human. He did not understand the nuances of his being not through ignorance but because he had no need to. It was his duty to inspire fear and doubt in his allies and foes alike, such that he may better serve the Emperor.

He calmly selected the control room from the list of destinations. The lift shook as it climbed the palatial tower towards the glass dome at the top. Its journey was short and he soon emerged into the cool, air-conditioned room. In the sky to his left was Aurora.

Harlus was nowhere to be seen.

"Sir," he said, "Where are you?"

" _I am in the chapel, Gyrus_ ," Harlus sent back.

There was an archway in the wall on the far side; Gyrus wove his way between the desks and control panels and went through. The men and women in the room shirked away from him as he passed them. The chamber he found himself in was cold, with flat metal walls and no windows. On the roof was a giant mosaic of the Emperor, reaching out to Holy Terra and taking it in the palm of His hand.

Harlus wore his armour, coloured white but with a gold shoulderpad on the left side to denote his rank. A quietly humming power sword was slung by his belt. Hearing the Marine approaching, he glanced over his shoulder.

"You found your way here, then," he said.

"I am still getting used to the new ship," Gyrus admitted.

"How do you like her?" Harlus asked.

Gyrus smiled.

"It is a step up from the Third Company," he said.

Harlus nodded his agreement.

"Pray with me," he ordered.

"Yes sir," Gyrus replied.

He knelt beside the Second Company Captain and rested his head on his hands.

" _O most holy Emperor_ ," he recited, " _Saviour of mankind and preserver of the realm, we implore You to forgive us our failings and make us stronger as the sun rises in the morning. In the same way You taught freedom and morality, we are bringing the Imperium's light to the far reaches of the galaxy, be it through peace or war. Keep us safe and let the White Knights endure through even the toughest of times. Knowledge and faith be with us all_."

Gyrus kept an eye on Harlus as they prayed. He'd shared a room with the Second Captain on only a few occasions, and this was the best chance he'd been given to get to know him properly. From what he could tell, Harlus was a much more even-handed and understanding commander of men than Jarfur had ever been. He was looking forward to serving under him.

They straightened up.

"That was well said, Gyrus," Harlus said.

"Thank you, sir," Gyrus replied.

"I have been talking to the Chapter Master about the situation developing on Ulis," Harlus told him. "He believes that direct intervention is required. It is a pity, but I can see no other way."

Gyrus frowned.

"A pity?" he said. "I have had a thirst for blood since Fastunhive."

Harlus sighed.

"Gyrus," he said, "I like you. The Master likes you. But we are taking a risk here."

"I do not follow," Gyrus admitted.

The lush glow from the eyes of Harlus' helmet washed over Gyrus' chest with his nod.

"No-one other than Piraeus has a problem with what you did in Fastunhive," he explained. "Going against Third Captain Jarfur's orders and advancing even when you knew you were placing yourself in danger was selfless and insolent in equal measure."

"Where is this going, sir?" Gyrus asked. "I have training to do if we are going back to Ulis."

"We have called the White Council, Gyrus," Harlus told him. "This is serious."

Gyrus stiffened. The White Council, formed of three representatives from each Company, was the Knights' decision-making body. They voted on key issues facing the Chapter.

"Over me?" he said.

"No," Harlus said. "That is the real problem." He synched his suit with the door and ordered it shut. "We have been contacted by an Inquisition ship. They are tying up loose ends now that von Guyen is dead. Apparently we have taken possession of the artefact that corrupted him, and that makes us a target for them. They want a show of loyalty."

Gyrus formed his hands into fists and punched them together.

"Let them come," he spat. "We are pure."

"I know that as well as anyone here, brother," Harlus assured him. "But they have declared whole worlds _excommunicate traitoris._ They pose a significant threat to us. The White Council has been convened to debate what to do."

Gyrus smiled.

"We shall stand as one against this bureaucracy," he promised.

"Not quite," Harlus said, and laid a gauntleted hand on Gyrus' shoulder. "They want to have you removed for interrogation. You are to be made into an example of what happens to Astartes who commit the crime of insubordination."

"I will not stand for this," Gyrus growled.

"Nor will I," Harlus said. "You need the opportunity to make your voice heard. I can stand up for you, but only for so long before they start blaming me instead."

"So you are bringing me to the meeting," Gyrus concluded.

"That is for you to decide," Harlus said.

Gyrus knew the true meaning of his words. The three speakers from each Company were the Captain, a Sergeant of his choosing and a Marine who had distinguished himself from his fellows.

"Just give me the chance to prove I can do it," he said, eagerly.

"I already have," Harlus said. He pointed at the floor. "Ulis."

"What of it?" Gyrus asked.

"Piraeus will be leading the ground assault," Harlus said. "As a member of his squad, I expect you to follow him. You are a Spearhead now, Gyrus. That means you have access to special wargear and equipment. I am happy to help you ready up."

"I can do it on my own, sir," Gyrus said.

"Excellent," Harlus said. "Visit the Stock Officer by the loading bays. He will find a sword for you. And I am glad you came to see me, Marine. Your case is most disturbing."

Gyrus nodded.

"Knowledge and faith be with you," he recited.


	11. S2 E2: Maelstrom

Series II - Rising Star

Episode II - Maelstrom

 _Finally, the pieces are in place for an assault on Ulis. No longer will the White Knights remain in orbit and watch the planet descend into chaos. Elements of the Second Company, under the command of Captain Harlus, will be landing on the surface and taking the fight to the Tau. Sergeant Piraeus' squad will be among them, and Gyrus will get his chance to prove himself and earn his place at the White Council._

The Reclusiam aboard the _Last Hope of the Weary_ was a vaulted, church-like hall with a stained glass window looking out into space at the far end. The blinds had been drawn across it by a pair of servitors, and they now stood patiently on either side of the altar whispering chants and incantations. The altar itself was covered with scrolls.

Chaplain Aurelius stood before it, looking out along the chamber. He was old and slightly haggard, with a wiry beard and an augmetic eye. The lines on his face spoke of centuries of battle and his voice hinted at old age, but he still wore full armour. Certain roles demanded specific colours of armour for the Marines that held them, regardless of their Chapter affiliation. While the Knights normally boasted shining white, Aurelius was clad in the deepest black. He looked down at Gyrus, who was kneeling before him.

" _One unbreakable shield against the coming darkness_ ," he recited. " _One last blade, forged in defiance of fate. Let them be my legacy to the galaxy I conquered, and my final gift to the species I failed_. The Emperor spoke those words at the founding of the Grey Knights. Like all Astartes, they serve as a physical extension of His incorruptible will. And in the same way, this weapon will serve as a physical extension of you."

He turned to one of the waiting servants and accepted a sword from him. It was a beautiful thing, its cross-guard engraved with two chalices and its golden pommel in the shape of an Aquila.

"With this blade," Aurelius said to Gyrus, "Fate will bend to your will. With this blade, you will fulfil your destiny. And with this blade, you will bring glory to yourself and to your Chapter. Do you accept this blade, Astarte?"

"I do," Gyrus solemnly promised.

Aurelius nodded.

"Then arise," he commanded. "And bequeath it a name."

Gyrus stood and took the sword from him. He turned to face his new Second Company squad, assembled at the base of the dais, and held it up for them to see.

"Maelstrom," he announced.

"Maelstrom!" they returned, with force.

Swords had always held a special place in the Knights' mythology. Marines in general revered weapons, passing them down through lineages hundreds of years long, but the Knights took the tradition even further. They saw swords as the tools that enabled them to carry out their divine duty.

The others broke up and started talking amongst themselves, their conversation echoing through the vaulted Reclusiam.

Gyrus sought out Aurelius.

"Chaplain," he said, with a respectful bow.

"Gyrus," Aurelius returned. "Congratulations on your promotion to the Second Company. It is my honour to be your Chaplain for as long as you serve in our ranks. I trust your new quarters are to your satisfaction?"

"I am looking forward to leaving them," Gyrus said, "And taking the fight to the Tau."

"All in good time," Aurelius assured him. "Why do you not you share that enthusiasm with Sergeant Piraeus and the others under his command? I'm sure they would appreciate it."

"Piraeus does not appreciate anything I do," Gyrus muttered.

" _Sergeant_ Piraeus," Aurelius said, a little coldly. "Insulting your superiors achieves nothing."

He beckoned for Gyrus to follow him and led him up to the altar, where they wouldn't be overheard. The servitors trundled away at a wave of Aurelius' hand.

"Captain Harlus explained your predicament," Aurelius said.

"I am sorry, Chaplain," Gyrus said, with a meaningful glance back at the squad. "I find myself with no friends here."

"Recall the sacred words of the Lexicon," Aurelius encouraged him. "A true Knight has no friends, only . . ?"

"Allies and rivals," Gyrus said.

Aurelius nodded slowly.

"I fear you are making none of the first and many of the latter," he lamented. "You would not do well to alienate your companions, most of all Piraeus."

"What did you mean by that?" Gyrus asked. "Many of the latter?"

"Your relationship with Piraeus is tenuous," Aurelius said, flatly. "As your Sergeant, he has both a moral and a legal obligation to protect you. That much is written in the Lexicon. Should you die, he will be held partially responsible."

"But the Lexicon encourages us to argue," Gyrus pointed out. "So it contradicts itself."

"Unfortunately so," Aurelius agreed. "Because we could use a little clarity on this of all issues. In your place, I would heed my words. I am only trying to help."

Gyrus was tired of so many people giving him counsel. He wanted to make his own decisions and prove his worth on his own.

"Thank you, Chaplain," he said, politely, "But I can look after myself."

Aurelius' tone changed. He stepped closer and spoke quietly.

"Can you?" he said. "The Inquisition are coming, and they will not hesitate to string you up and use you as a scapegoat. There are many among our glorious Chapter's lower levels who argue that you deserve it for what you did."

"Do you share their views?" Gyrus demanded.

"It is my duty to provide help where it is needed," Aurelius said, ambivalently. "And you need it dearly. Third Captain Jarfur has filed an official complaint."

"Paperwork?" Gyrus spat. "That seems unlike him."

"Perhaps he has correctly realised," Aurelius suggested, "That simply shouting down everyone else will not get him what he wants. In any case, he is taking his issue to the Master."

"Then I shall meet him in a duel," Gyrus decided. "To show him what I am capable of. I refuse to be assassinated by an _official complaint_. Since when did we stoop so low?"

"It is despicable, I know," Aurelius said. "I share your discontent."

"Will you speak with him and arrange a meeting?" Gyrus requested.

"No," Aurelius said, sharply. "I will not. Matters as serious as these are left for the Master himself. If he fails to see your side, it will be brought up at the next White Council meeting, making it all the more important for you to secure yourself a place."

"I anticipate it eagerly," Gyrus said.

"So you should," Aurelius said. "Now, speak to Piraeus – and do try to be nice."

Gyrus ignored his sarcasm. He said his goodbyes and found his way over to the others. They were talking amongst themselves but their conversation faded when they saw him approaching. One by one they turned to look at him. He was a little taller than them in his armour, but he didn't feel as if he held the advantage.

"Greetings," he said, formally. "I am brother Gyrus, recently promoted from the Third Company. I believe I am replacing Marius?"

"He fell to the Tau on Ulis," one of the Marines said. "Apparently there was actually someone you _could not_ save."

Gyrus snarled and stepped towards him ominously.

Piraeus was there in a moment, blocking him with an arm.

"We are going down to the surface tomorrow morning," he said. "If you cause a fight now, you could disrupt the squad and doom us all." He looked at the man who had spoken up. "Lucius, I recommend you back off. Gyrus is not here to fight you, he is here to fight the Tau."

Gyrus examined Lucius carefully. Despite his cutting remark, he seemed friendly enough. His broad, well-rounded face appeared given to smiling. He'd cut his hair back short and swept it to one side across his forehead. A streak of dyed white and blue, the Knights' colours, hinted at a rebellious nature, as did a set of studs in one ear.

"It is my honour to fight with you," Gyrus told him, trying to make up for their disagreement.

"Honour?" Lucius spat. "I served under Captain Jarfur in the Third Company for almost five decades before making it up to the Second, and you were promoted for _defying_ him. Where is the honour in that, exactly?"

"And the men I saved?" Gyrus said. "Our brothers?"

"That does not change the facts," Lucius insisted. "You do not deserve to be going into battle alongside us. That is the end of it."

"Enough!" Piraeus snapped.

Silence fell throughout the Reclusiam.

Aurelius looked up sharply from the scroll he was reading.

The servitors fretted, their mechanical fingers clicking quietly in a tutting chorus.

Gyrus knew Piraeus had commanded men for most of his life, and he clearly had a lot of experience under his belt. He was certain his new squadmates were thinking the same. None of them dared to speak a word.

"If the decision had been mine to make," Piraeus said, smoothing his tunic, "Things would be different. Unfortunately, these orders do not come from me. They are from Captain Harlus himself. Rest assured, I _am_ planning to discuss this with him when I see him. Until then, I expect you to treat Gyrus with the respect with which you would treat me."

"Sir," Lucius said, "What about . . ."

"Do you hear me, Astarte?" Piraeus interrupted.

Lucius stiffened.

"Yes sir," he said. "Knowledge and faith."

"Knowledge and faith," Piraeus replied, with a gracious nod. "Now, we have all got training to do. I do not care if you leave Gyrus alone or engage with him. It is up to you."

While the rest of the Marines filed out, Gyrus crossed the Reclusiam to the altar. A copy of the Lexicon was propped up against it. It was thick and musty, its pages cracked and torn in a few places. Here and there were beautiful illuminated panels depicting past glories of the Chapter. Gyrus picked it up, rested it on his armoured knee and read from it.

" _Our thoughts light the darkness that others might cross space_ ," he said, reciting a quote from the Credo of the Astronomican. " _We are one with the Emperor, our souls are joined in His will. Praise the Emperor whose sacrifice is life as ours is death. Hail his name the Master of Humanity_."

"That is not a prayer of ours," Lucius said.

Gyrus looked up, surprised that he had stayed behind.

"I know," he said. "But I enjoy the spirit of it."

"There is much wisdom in those pages," Lucius said, indicating the book. "Some of it is the Knights', some of it belongs to other servants of the Imperium. I have always thought it does not matter which we draw upon."

"You know the Lexicon?" Gyrus asked, curiously.

"I have dedicated years of my life to studying it," Lucius said, proudly. "Such a mighty tome should not be ignored."

There was a short, tense pause.

"My apologies, Gyrus," Lucius said. "Surely you can understand my frustration."

Gyrus signed the Aquila to him.

"I do," he said. "But I had to save those men."

Lucius did the same.

"Of course you did," he agreed. "And I am sure they are thankful for it. May I pray with you?"

Gyrus was surprised by the offer but keen to take it.

"I would appreciate that," he said.

"Shall we?" Lucius said.

They knelt together.

" _O most holy Emperor_ ," they recited, " _We pray for You to guide us in our endeavours. We are spreading Your light and the light of the Imperium to the far reaches of the galaxy, and with Your blessing, the foul taint of xenos shall be utterly exterminated. As we go into battle to further our cause, we wish for You to protect us and shield us from evil. Knowledge and faith be with us all_."


	12. S2 E3: Descent

Series II - Rising Star

Episode III - Descent

 _Freshly equipped with his new blade, Maelstrom, and now with an unlikely ally in his squad, Gyrus is keen to secure his place at the upcoming White Council. He has the backing of Second Captain Harlus but his relationship with his Sergeant is tenuous. There are still obstacles to overcome if he wants to redeem himself after what he did in Fastunhive._

The interior of the drop pod shook ominously as it screamed down through Ulis' atmosphere. Every now and then it would skew off-course when Tau anti-aircraft fire glanced off its smooth flank, but the reactionary control jets would push it back onto its correct trajectory. There were no windows cut through its thick hull and the inside was cramped and overheated. Its ten occupants sat in a ring around the navigation core, facing outwards. The flaps on its sides had been pulled up and secured and now they clattered violently as the small, bullet-shaped pod dropped towards the surface. A cone of fire had formed around its base. Flames licked up its flanks to scorch the ceramite. More pods were falling alongside them as the Second Company, the Spearheads, plunged down from the sky.

Sergeant Piraeus was using his armour to interface with the pod's cogitator. He read from the holographic screen in front of him.

"ETA twenty seconds," he said. "Ready up, Astartes!"

The pod was filled with the humming of power swords and the click-clack of bolt pistols. There was a whirring sound and wind suddenly rushed past them; the compartment had depressurised.

Gyrus locked his suit in preparation for the impact.

"We have a heavy xeno presence on the ground," Piraeus said. "We are inserting to the mansion of a leading Ulian politician to bolster Imperial Guard forces. The Tau have dug in and reinforced their position. That means we are prioritising melee combat."

The shaking intensified as they passed into the clear air and the flaps rattled even more heavily. Their suits' internal gyroscopes struggled to compensate and keep them steady.

Gyrus closed his eyes in preparation for the landing. He'd experienced the process dozens of times before and yet he was still not accustomed to it. He was used to measuring everything about a battle, from the number of rounds he had expended to the lives he had taken. But now, he had no way of knowing how far from the ground they were. The impact would come without warning.

It was a moment of white noise and a jarring thud, accompanied by g-forces that would have crushed a human to pulp.

Before Gyrus knew it, the flaps were down and he was in the open, looking out across a green field splattered with steaming mud from the landing.

"With me, brothers!" Piraeus cried.

"For the White Knights!" Gyrus echoed, standing and drawing Maelstrom from its sheath.

Tau gunfire was all around them within seconds. Shimmering blue bolts flashed through the air. A couple of them glanced harmlessly off his armour. They barely scorched the paint. Where it hit the ground, the plasma lost its coherency and splashed through the short grass, dissolving it rapidly.

The firing was coming from the hedgerow at the far end of the field.

After a moment the automated bolter mounted on the top of the drop pod opened up. It sent a stream of explosive rounds towards the shooters. A wall of dust and pulverised mud was thrown into the air, allowing the Marines to advance. The loosely-formed line of white figures stomped up across the field. They were soon in pistol range.

An onboard suite of auto-senses enhanced Gyrus' already superhuman vision. His helmet marked his targets with flashing strobes and guided his aim as he advanced. With subtle nudges, the suit acted independently to keep his shots on target.

Two of the Tau dropped instantly, their chests blown open by his pistol's high-velocity rounds.

Blood arched through the air as he calmly switched his aim and dispatched a group of their fellows, each one dropping limply to the earth.

A thin blue tracer line appeared through the dust and found its mark. It was followed by a deep boom, and the drop pod exploded with a dull crump. Pieces of wreckage showered outwards in trails of smoke and sparks.

With no heavy bolter spitting lead, their cover faded.

A shot ricocheted off Gyrus' breastplate to be deflected downwards. Warning signs flashed in the corner of his heads-up display, indicating damage to the suit. He ignored them and cut down a few more aliens to find his vision blocked by a white flare.

" _Thermal sensors_ ," Piraeus sent over the radio.

Gyrus activated them with a thought.

A small cluster of heat signatures materialised beyond the hedge. Two of them were gone within seconds and his display switched their colour to a dirty grey.

He was nearing their position and stowed his bolt pistol, then powered Maelstrom up in preparation. There was a waist-high trench dug into the ground. The Tau defenders were firing from it and he got a good look at them as he shouldered through the hedge. Like his brothers, he had little patience for the study of their biology, but he had spent enough of his life butchering them to have some understanding.

They were humanoid, insofar as being bipedal with two arms and a single head. Marring this unassuming appearance, however, was a coating of thick, leathery blue-grey skin and a pair of cloven hooves for feet. Their faces were flat, wide around the eyes and lacking a nose of any kind. In its place was a long cleft from forehead to mouth that split the entire face in two.

Imperial xenobiologists had speculated that the Tau's curious belief in the dishonour of hand-to-hand combat was a product of their eyesight, which was excellent at long range and terrible over short distances.

All Gyrus knew was that it rendered them corpses once they dropped their guns. That, and their distinctly human capacity for fear made them easy to break.

Seven feet of adamantium plating, one and a half tonnes all told, slammed down into the trench. A long red cloak trailed down from curved white shoulderpads. On the broad chest was emblazoned a golden chalice, and the jewels embedded in its surface glowed in the light from Aurora III. As far as the Tau were concerned, something so large and heavy should barely have been able to stand under its own weight. Instead, it moved faster than they ever could.

"I am the Emperor's wrath made manifest!" Gyrus bellowed. His voice was magnified by his respirator grill and echoed out across the battlefield.

The aliens stared at him in abject terror. They knew in that moment that there was no force in the galaxy capable of saving them. Nothing they could do could stop the foe they found themselves facing. Their guns and knives were entirely useless. They faltered and nearly broke, then one of them drew its combat knife.

"To battle!" it shouted, and charged forward.

Gyrus laughed aloud. The creature was speaking Gothic, no doubt in an attempt to intimidate him. Adeptus Astartes were engineered not to feel fear and never to retreat unless a situation demanded it. These xenos were freshly deployed from orbit, the vanguard of the Tau's second invasion wave. Clearly they had never faced his kind before. His task would be that much easier for it.

The pathetic combat knife found its mark on his armoured stomach and slid off uselessly.

He reached down to the alien's level, closed his left hand on its skull and crushed it. His gauntlet alone dwarfed its entire head.

Another one fired its rifle from short range, clipping his arm and knocking him off-balance.

The armour whirred and clicked as it brought him upright.

He flooded his veins with adrenaline and threw Maelstrom like a spear. The vengeful blade passed straight through the alien and buried itself in the one behind. He turned, just in time for the butt of a gun to smack into his helmet. His thermal filter flickered and deactivated, leaving him unable to see through the smoke. Figures moved with alarming speed before him. He walked towards them, crushing corpses under his armoured feet.

A Tau warrior burst from the mist, armed with a pulse pistol.

His suit shrugged the blasts off and he swiped the scum asunder with a fist.

Two more came behind, closing in on him.

The first raised its knife, but Gyrus caught its arm and tore it clean off. As it recoiled in agony he wielded the bloody limb like a club, bludgeoning its companion. He prised the knife from the tightly clenched fingers and plunged it into the alien's neck. He left the injured Tau where it was, going to retrieve his sword. It was still protruding from a discarded piece of splintered armour.

Its owner was lying on the ground a few metres away.

"Please," it begged, in broken Gothic. "Don't kill me!"

Gyrus smiled to himself as he beheaded it, wondering how much time his opponents had spent preparing for his arrival. Guns had been polished, plates cleaned and boots scuffed just so they could look smarter in death. He returned to the armless alien, raising Maelstrom to strike it down.

He need not have bothered, however. A bolter round slammed into his head.

Lucius dropped into the trench. He was covered from head to toe in bloodstains. His right shoulderpad bore a nasty gash that had exposed the wiring beneath.

Gyrus synched their suits and brought up a readout of Lucius' vital signs. He had activated his trauma systems. The splashes of blood on his suit, originally blue, were brightening to amber as their high cobalt content caused them to oxidise.

"Well fought, brother," Lucius said, panting a little. "Taking that mansion will be easy."

The smoke began to fade, bringing the full scale of the devastation to light. Bodies littered the trench, and blood had pooled on the ground in several places. Long trails of the hot amber liquid were running down the field towards their smoking drop pod. It was soaking into the grass and staining it a deep yellow. The air was filled with the smell of munitions and the stench of acid.

Gyrus nodded to Lucius.

"These xenos are pathetic," he said. "I want a challenge."

"You will get one," Piraeus told him, from a short distance away. He was sitting on a tree-stump and cleaning his power sword. "We are to meet up with Guard elements on the ground and lead the assault with them for cover."

"I do not like lowering myself to their level," Lucius said.

Gyrus nodded.

"Those weak humans do not know true combat," he agreed. "They fight like dogs."

"It is for the good of the Chapter," Piraeus said. "Speaking of which, I am impressed with you, Gyrus. I give credit where it is due and you have won a lot today. I will be watching you carefully."

"Captain Harlus said I had to earn myself a place at the White Council," Gyrus said.

Piraeus sheathed his power sword.

"True," he said, stepping down into the trench with them. "What he neglected to mention is that I am the Sergeant attending from the Second Company. On combat records alone, I can choose between two Marines to bring with me. It is either of you."

Gyrus and Lucius looked at each other. Both were feeling the good faith they had accumulated slowly draining away.

"I want to see how you perform later on before I make my decision," Piraeus said, and opened a radio channel to the entire squad. "Astartes! We are moving out!"


	13. S2 E4: The Mansion

Series II - Rising Star

Episode IV - The Mansion

 _Under the command of Sergeant Piraeus, Gyrus' Second Company squad has made landfall on Ulis and cleared their landing site. But their success has been tinged by a startling revelation; the other candidate to attend the White Council is his new friend Lucius. This turn of events has pitted the two of them directly against each other. Now they must compete for Piraeus' approval._

Corporal Jahin hated Tau. He hated everything about them: the way their blue plasma dissolved through his boots, the well-practiced firing discipline they somehow managed to maintain at all times and the speed with which they could set up defensive positions. But most of all, he hated the fact that their sniper had picked off three of his men in the last ten minutes without letting them gain so much as an inch of ground.

The mansion was a large, luxurious house with a sweeping lawn and a gravel drive. It had two wings that extended like slumped shoulders on either side of the main block. In the middle was a magnificent tower, though now its crest was missing and its pillars were splintered and cracked. At the end of the drive was a checkpoint taken from the Tau and garrisoned by the 21st Ulian Infantry Regiment. The shadow from the building just extended to it, cut neatly from the glowing ground in the harsh light of Aurora III. Some kind of alien standard flew from the spire. A series of small holes had been cut from it where bullets had whipped through the fabric. Below it, the main doors were bolted shut and securely defended from the other side.

One by one the Marines emerged from the treeline and joined the Guard at the gate.

For Jahin, it was like watching the heroes of myth and legend made real. These were the people he'd heard tales of all his life. Here they were, standing before him as if it was the simplest thing in the world. He couldn't get his head around it.

"My lord," he said, falteringly.

"I am not a lord," Piraeus snapped back. "What is your name?"

"Corporal Jahin, sir," Jahin said. "Ulian 21st."

"Sergeant Piraeus," came the reply. "Brief me."

Jahin nodded eagerly.

"We've been occupying this spot for three hours," he explained. "And the bastards haven't budged yet. There's a sniper up in that tower."

As if on cue, a dot appeared on Piraeus' helmet and a shot rang out. He recoiled with the force but he was unharmed. The only sign of what had happened was a line through the white paint, revealing the adamantium beneath. Piraeus crouched low.

Jahin stared at him open-mouthed.

"That alien took out three of my men," he said, dumbfounded.

"Your men are weak," Lucius said, simply.

Jahin wasn't about to argue with that.

Piraeus looked at him.

"Did you send anyone in to clear them out?" he asked.

"A fireteam of four troopers breached the garage door," Jahin said. "But we lost contact with them. I don't know if they're still alive. At the very least, they gave us a way in."

"They died in vain," Piraeus said, matter-of-factly. "The Tau will have reinforced that entry point by now. Gyrus?"

Gyrus had moved ahead of them, into the shade of the pillar by the gate.

"Rightaway, sir," he said. He ducked out for a short second.

No sooner had he whipped his head back behind cover than a bolt of plasma flashed past where he had been a moment earlier. It splashed across the gravel of the drive, kicking up a shower of little stones that skittered away.

"You see the problem," Jahin said, trying to be helpful. "That sniper's too . . ."

"I saw seven hostiles," Gyrus said to Piraeus. His auto-senses had detected movement and heat readings, then placed strobes over them. By adjusting for intervening terrain it could both follow and predict their motion, giving the user realtime suggestions as to where his enemies were located. The data automatically synched with his squadmates, allowing them all to see it.

"Very well," Piraeus said. "We are going in on the right, by the garage."

"But I thought you said they would have reinforced it," Jahin ventured.

Piraeus fixed his glowing blue lenses on him.

Jahin withered.

"I did," Piraeus said. "And they will have. But they will be expecting Guardsmen." He turned back to his Marines. "Lucius, Gyrus, I want you to head over there and break in."

"Sir," Gyrus said, "Are you sure sending both of us is wise?"

Piraeus regarded him coldly.

"Do as I say," he said, "Or I shall have you removed from this squad."

"With all due respect, sir," Lucius ventured, "Would it not be better for us to go individually? I would certainly be happy to . . ."

"No, it would not," Piraeus cut in. "We are wasting time here, both of you. Get it done. Now."

"Knowledge and faith," the two of them recited in union.

They headed off along a narrow track, protected by a stone wall to their left. It led into a small gully and ran alongside a brook for a short way, then climbed up around the edge of the estate. At the end was a large, open area with the wing of the house a few metres away on the other side. As promised, the door to the garage stood wide open. There were two Imperial Guard bodies lying there.

Lucius pointed to them.

"Their armour is weak and their guns paltry," he observed. "Only a poor commander of men would send his troops into a fight knowing they would be defeated."

"They are human," Gyrus shrugged. "What do you expect?"

He activated his resolution zoom and examined the corpses carefully.

"They were killed by single shots," he said. "This is a sniper's work."

"Any fool could have told me that," Lucius said, dismissively. "Let's go."

They rose and advanced.

A shot from the sniper whizzed past angrily, the blue liquid splashing over the ground on their right. Another came a second later and was absorbed by Gyrus' armoured shin. They were soon at the door and burst into the room to find three Tau warriors waiting for them.

Lucius had shot one of them before their guns were up.

Gyrus dropped into a slide.

A round from his fellow Marine's gun roared over his head, taking the second alien down in a shower of blood, as he straightened up and whirled around with his bolt pistol ready to fire.

The third Tau didn't know where to turn. In a few seconds it had been outnumbered and outflanked. Gyrus' bullet met the base of its neck and it dropped, convulsing on the way down, before the explosive shell violently exploded.

A pulse grenade was thrown into the room from the far door.

Gyrus looked at it. His suit analysed its capacity and projected a blast radius. He glanced away as it detonated but it still blinded him. Although his auto-senses tried to filter the intense light from the explosion, they had been damaged in the fight at the landing zone and they could only do so much. All he could make out were strange figures swimming through a fog of white. He hefted his pistol and the weapon barked. Bullets flickered towards the aliens rushing at them.

A spray of blood splattered over his legs as a corpse slammed down hard in front of him, falling on its arm and breaking it.

"Face the Emperor's judgement!" Lucius cried, his power sword sweeping through the air. It whined as it cut through armour and flesh with ease, disembowelling a couple of hapless xenos.

The electromagnetic weave laid into the fingers of Gyrus' gauntlet synched Maelstrom and his suit. He used his mind to increase the blade's power level. As he had hoped, the shimmering, crackling energy blazed a path ahead.

There was something moving past, identifiable by nothing more than a pair of shoulder lights and a helmet retina. It was a stealthsuit with its cloak engaged. The dust shifted off its back as it moved.

"Lucius!" he warned. "There!"

The Tau inside the suit had already locked its target. Now it thumbed the trigger, sending a rapid-fire volley of blue pulses towards Lucius from the cannon slung under its arm.

He recoiled as the plasma splashed off his chest and slowly dissolved his breastplate.

Gyrus steadied his aim and took a shot, hitting the xenos in the leg.

The cannon's four barrels came a halt with a hiss. The alien took aim at him.

He fired once more but his magazine was spent. With a growl, he dropped the gun and charged.

It saw him coming and opened up again. Blue light filled the room, flickering and dancing off the walls. It was like a beam linked the two of them.

Gyrus leaned forward against the force as he advanced. Glyphs were blinking all around his heads-up display as his suit took hit after hit in rapid succession.

"I am His will!" he recited, increasing his blood adrenaline level, draining his storage banks. It was enough to push him onwards. He brought Maelstrom up.

No contact was required. The sword came into range and bolts of electricity jumped from it, crackling across the surface of the stealthsuit like lightning. Its cloak failed, exposing the curved orange plates of its armour.

A twisted snarl of satisfaction on his face, Gyrus swung the sword. It thudded into the alien's chest. He placed his boot on its thigh-guard and ripped the weapon out in a wide arc.

Blood and gore drew a long line along the ceiling.

Its front a messy ruin, the Tau keeled over.

The only noise was their breathing and the laboured grinding of their damaged suits.

Gyrus' breastplate was splintered and fractured. The chalice symbol it bore had shattered in a dozen places. Loose wires sparked and jumped.

"You . . ." Lucius panted. "You saved me."

Gyrus shook his head.

"No," he said. "You would have done the same for me. Any brother would have."

Lucius turned away. He was nursing wounds of his own.

They both took a few moments to catch their breath.

"Sergeant Piraeus will want you removed from the battlefield," Lucius said.

"I know," Gyrus said. "That is not an option."

Harlus' warning against the Inquisition had been emphatic. They had singled him out for punishment for what he had done in Fastunhive and this would be his best, perhaps his only, chance to defend his actions.

"I can fight," he said.

"You are not going anywhere," Lucius said. "There will be more of them. The sniper is still here, and they will have dug in."

Gyrus had a plan. He activated his painkiller dispensary, desensitising his nerve endings and numbing his entire frame. The display on his lenses gradually returned to normal, the red alerts replaced with white readouts, and the warning glyphs faded. He cleared his throat.

"We are wounded," he said, honestly. "And getting the rest of the squad to back us up potentially jeopardises their safety. And more, we both want to prove ourselves to the Sergeant, so . . ."

"If you cannot fight, you cannot fight," Lucius interrupted.

"That is an excuse and you know it," Gyrus snapped. "I know you have had your trauma systems online this whole time. So rather than one of us going ahead alone and getting killed, why do we not go in there together? Piraeus can take his pick."

Lucius said nothing, just nodded.

Their helmet radios crackled with an incoming call on a wide channel. They tapped into it to hear Piraeus' voice on the other end.

" _Who is this?_ " he asked.

" _Sergeant Piraeus_ ," came a familiar voice, " _This is Captain Harlus. You are coming back to the ship immediately_."

" _For what purpose?_ " Piraeus said, clearly dissatisfied with the order.

" _Inquisitor Orrick has arrived_ ," Harlus said, tersely, " _And the Master has issued an emergency summons to the White Council. A Thunderhawk is en route for immediate extraction, ETA ten minutes. I expect you to hold your current positions and ensure you take no casualties in the meantime_."

"And the mission?" Gyrus said.

There was a pause.

" _Who is speaking?_ " Harlus said.

"This is Gyrus, sir," he replied.

" _The mission is neither here nor there_ ," Harlus told him. " _I am sure the local Guard forces will understand how important this is for us_."

"Sir," Gyrus said, "They do not have the strength to do this on their own."

"I am _not letting you help, Gyrus, and that is the end of it_ ," Harlus sent. " _Hold position_."

His end of the line went dead.

Gyrus folded his arms.

"Sergeant," he said, "Are we to obey him?"

He heard Piraeus' sigh across the channel.

" _I am torn_ ," he admitted. " _After Fastunhive, I am not sure it would be appropriate. You are on shaky ground with the Captain already. But if I was the one to give the order, you would be above punishment. I will take responsibility_."

"Thank you, sir," Gyrus said. "We will get it done. Knowledge and faith."

"Knowledge and faith," Piraeus said, and ended the call.


	14. S2 E5: Crisis

Series II - Rising Star

Episode V - Crisis

 _Gyrus and Lucius are both afflicted with serious injuries from their assault on the mansion, but they have determined to persevere. The move would be contentious in the eyes of Second Captain Harlus and so Sergeant Piraeus has decided to take responsibility. He is keen to give them both the opportunity to prove themselves, and they are keen to seize it._

Lucius led Gyrus through the door and up the stairs to the first floor. The corridor ran to where the wing met the main building and then turned left onto a balcony overlooking the entrance hall. They advanced slowly, covering all the angles in case there were xenos waiting for them. The rooms were all empty; the Tau had clearly retreated to the other side of the house in anticipation of their advance. As they approached the atrium, the sound of voices floated up to them. Some were soft and sing-song, clearly alien. The rest were human.

Gyrus followed Lucius around the corner and onto the balcony.

A group of Tau stood in the hall, guarding the front entrance.

"To battle!" Gyrus cried. He vaulted over the railing and landed heavily. Pain blossomed through his torso in waves as his injured ribs broke further but he ignored it and fought through. He was determined to ensure Piraeus' attack order had not been in vain.

The xenos raised their weapons but Lucius fired first, cutting one of them down.

Gyrus darted forward. He grabbed the nearest enemy by the waist and slammed it against the wall. The last one came at him with a short blade.

Lucius picked him off and dropped down as well, just as two more aliens burst from an anteroom. They were firing over their shoulders at something behind them. A series of pulse blasts mowed them down. Bright Tau blood splattered over the floor.

One was still alive, moaning and convulsing in pain.

Gyrus raised Maelstrom and advanced to finish it off.

A bolt of plasma shot past his helmet.

"Sorry!" came a timid shout.

A pair of Imperial Guard troopers joined them. They were battered and bruised, with torture marks on their faces and ropes around their necks as if the xenos had been preparing to hang them. One of them carried a long-barrelled orange rifle.

"Fools," Lucius spat. He strode over to them, grabbed the weapon and threw it to the ground. "You should not use their technology. It is beneath you."

"We had nothing else," the Guardsman pointed out. "They took our guns."

Lucius looked at him.

"The presence of xenos in this galaxy is a blight, not an opportunity," he said, coldly. "They are nothing more than targets for the guns of the Imperium. Every rank before us is but a shield for those behind, ready and waiting to be butchered. Their weapons are merely pathetic attempts to defy their destiny, which is to die at the hand of mankind." He indicated the rifle. "You would lower yourself to using this . . . excuse for defiance?"

"But the Lexicon," Gyrus reminded him, "Also teaches that we should study the technologies of our enemies to better defeat them."

Lucius nodded uncertainly.

" _Mankind's darkest hour stretches the Imperium's resources further than ever before_ ," he recited. " _All devotees of the Emperor must find ways to improvise and use what supplies they can find. Through these means the taint of heresy and the impurity of xenos shall be purged eternally_."

"Now we've got that clear," the Guardsman said, picking up the gun, "Can we get out of here?"

"You dare address me so insolently?" Lucius said. "Speak when you are spoken to."

He stepped forward with a heavy thud.

The hapless soldier cowered and covered his face.

"The doors," Gyrus said, to Lucius. "We have to tell Sergeant Piraeus he is clear to advance."

He strode over to the entrance and swung the thick oaken doors aside.

Three Tau stood on the other side, firing at the garage to their left.

Gyrus' heavy footsteps alerted them to his presence but they turned too late. He chose the one closest to hand and picked it up, throwing it bodily into one of its comrades.

Sensing a break in the fighting, the Marines on the other side of the clearing opened up.

The last of the Tau jolted as it was shredded by their volley.

Gyrus' radio crackled.

" _Is the main building clear?_ " Piraeus said.

"It is, Sergeant," he sent back. "We are certain of it."

" _Take care of that sniper and we will come out_ ," Piraeus sent. " _We can draw its fire if you need._ "

"Thank you, sir," Gyrus said.

An artificially enhanced shout rang from the top of the staircase, booming through the hall as it emanated from a set of speakers.

"Human scum!"

The four of them swivelled round.

A Crisis-pattern Battlesuit stood on the landing. It was half as tall again as the Marines. The limbs of the Tau inside did not fit into those of the mech; instead, it curled up in a kind of cockpit at the construct's core. Its broad, armoured shoulders were capped with a helmet. Three red lights blinked and sought a lock. As they watched, it raised its gun.

Gyrus threw himself into a roll, using a pile of masonry for cover.

Thinking quickly, Lucius grabbed one of the Guardsmen and used him as a human shield.

A series of pulses scythed through the man's chest. The sheer force of the rounds ripped him open. The strange blue liquid splashed down his front, dissolving his stomach. He screamed and Lucius threw him aside, then sprinted up the stairs.

The Battlesuit stood upright, servos in its legs hissing and whining to support the entire two tonnes of weight sitting atop them. Its cannon powered up. Streaks of light flickered up its sides and gathered in a blue sphere at the end of the barrel.

Lucius reached the landing and dropped into a slide.

The pulse erupted from the gun and passed over him by no more than an inch. It hit the second Guardsman square in the face, decapitating him instantly. The corpse collapsed limply as Lucius jumped to his feet and scaled the Battlesuit's back. He used the plates as handholds.

"Gyrus!" he shouted. "Keep it busy!"

Gyrus straightened up.

"Come at me, xeno scum!" he cried.

The Tau inside the suit was either incredibly stupid or considered him a larger threat. It switched its aim to him, then recoiled as Lucius ripped its shoulderpad off. Sparks cascaded from broken wires and power lines. The mech's backpack engines fired, washing the tiled landing clean with twin cones of flame, and it rose into the air towards the shattered roof.

Gyrus made for it but he was too slow. He could only watch as it climbed.

Still hanging on to its overlapping plates, Lucius used his free hand to draw his power sword and plunged it deep into the hole he had made, as far as it would go. That gave him something else to hold on to, and he seized it.

The mortally wounded xenos shrieked in pain as it was electrocuted. It changed course, taking them in a long arc over the lawn.

Lucius found his strength fading. He glanced down to see if there was anything else he could use. Timing his release carefully, he let go of the sword and fell freely alongside the hulking mech. By spreading his arms he slowed himself down enough to take hold of its leg and began climbing towards the engine outputs. Heat blistered across his armour and warning signs blinked on his visor. He disregarded them as he took out a grenade, ripped the mech's emergency access hatch off and placed it inside. He relinquished his grip. As he twisted and span helplessly in midair, he saw the explosion and knew the Tau was gone. In a second he had hit the tower and smashed right through it to land in the middle of the hall.

Gyrus was sent staggering by the impact. Tiles were thrown out in all directions and the fading cloud of dust revealed a yawning crater where Lucius had come down. Scraps of armour and flaming fragments of cloth fluttered down through the jagged hole he'd left in the roof.

"That was a bad idea," Lucius said. He was lying on his back in the crater.

"Actually," Gyrus said, realising that his valiant effort had paid off, "Look."

The body of the sniper from the tower came down a moment later with a sickening crunch.

"We can call the others," Gyrus said.

"Help me up," Lucius requested.

Gyrus took his hand and pulled him upright.

Lucius' backpack was warped and twisted. Sparks showered from it as the reactor inside desperately struggled to keep his suit's systems online. He quickly deactivated it to prevent an overload and detached it from his armour. It fell to the ground with a clang.

They walked out onto the lawn. The sword protruded from the ground nearby.

Gyrus pulled it out and handed it over.

Piraeus and the other Marines emerged from the garage.

"That was some fine work, brothers," he said. "I shall be commending you for this."

They had both been expecting a decision from him, but he was giving nothing away.

"I am sure the Captain will be pleased with your performance," he added. "Gyrus, I want you to see an Apothecary as soon as we get back to the _Weary_."

The air filled with the whine of engines and a Thunderhawk descended from the clouds, flaring to swing into position. As they watched, the skids slid down from its underside and it hit the ground with the hiss of hydraulics. The front ramp swung open.

Captain Harlus stood inside.

"Gyrus," he said. "It seems you are making a name for yourself."

Gyrus strode up to him.

"In what way, sir?" he said, innocently.

"First Fastunhive, now this," Harlus said. "You are pushing your luck."

"I gave the order," Piraeus interrupted.

Harlus waited until the Thunderhawk's engines had shut down then spoke quietly.

"This is most unbecoming, Sergeant," he said. "First you have the tenacity to complain about a Marine in your squad without good reason – at least, none that I can see – and now you are challenging my orders. I hope you have an explanation."

"You complained about me?" Gyrus asked.

"I underestimated you," Piraeus admitted, and gave Lucius a glance. " _Both_ of you. This is a difficult decision to make." He turned back to Harlus. "The mansion is clear, Captain, and my Astartes will pull through unharmed. We are here on time and we completed all our objectives, with absolutely no loss to anyone in the process."

Harlus reached up and removed his helmet with the deep clicks of its unlocking mechanism. To their surprise, he wore a broad smile.

"Let us see whether the Master takes your view," he said.

They followed him up the ramp into the crew compartment.

Gyrus sat beside him, while Lucius and Piraeus took the seats opposite. The others found space up by the cockpit.

"Sir," Lucius said to Piraeus, "Have you reached a conclusion?"

"In all honesty, I cannot say," Piraeus said. "You are both good men. I am inclined to pick you, Lucius, since you have served me longer. For all I know, Gyrus may simply have found luck today. How am I to judge?"

"In that case," Lucius said, graciously, "I decline and give my place to him."

Piraeus frowned inside his helmet.

"I was not aware protocol allowed for such a gesture," he said.

"He can do it," Harlus said. "It is in the Lexicon."

"Chapter five, line one hundred and three," Lucius said. " _Any Marine willing to give a brother a chance to make his voice heard at the White Council has every right to do so, granted his commanding officer gives permission_." He looked at Piraeus. "And do you, sir?"

"It is not what I intended," Piraeus said. "But this decision is yours to make."

"That is settled, then," Harlus concluded. "Is this verdict acceptable?"

Gyrus nodded.

"It certainly is," he said.


	15. S2 E6: The Duel

Series II - Rising Star

Episode VI - The Duel

 _The Inquisition are still seeking to tie up loose ends after the death of von Guyen in Fastunhive, and they have found their target. In disobeying Third Captain Jarfur Gyrus has put himself in their sights. Now he has won a chance to defend himself at the White Council, but at what cost? His alliance with Lucius, tenuous to begin with, appears to be in tatters. He intends to seek solace in the counsel of one of his closest friends in the Chapter, Apothecary Narre of the Second Company._

The _Last Hope of the Weary_ 's Apothecarium was a large suite of rooms in the ship's lower levels, fanning out around a reception chamber that adjoined the elevator shaft. Among its many facilities was the training centre that the Company's Marines used to hone their abilities and prepare themselves for battle. Now that they had left Ulis to attend the White Council meeting, it was almost at capacity with Astartes practicing swordplay and brawling.

Gyrus sat on a bench by the row of windows that looked out into the void, wearing his tunic and cleaning Maelstrom meticulously. He'd been working on the sword for the better part of an hour. The vista behind him was obscured by shutters; the _Weary_ was travelling through the Warp and the view outside could corrupt even the most stalwart of souls.

Narre, the Apothecary attached to the Second Company, was flicking through a copy of the Lexicon to find the page he wanted. The two of them had been close friends for a very long time. They had served together in the Third Company until Narre was promoted up to the Second, and they had kept in touch until Gyrus' own promotion. Now he was back from Ulis, they were spending time together once more.

"How long is this going to take?" Gyrus asked.

"I do not know," Narre replied. "I cannot remember the number."

He was dressed in his Apothecary's armour: white like the rest of them, but sporting a red cross on the right shoulderpad and a black trim instead of blue or gold. On his left shoulder was the Prime Helix, an ancient symbol showing his rank and position as a trusted healer. His face was noble and well-set, but Gyrus knew it was as much through correctional surgery as natural appeal. He had long black hair down to his shoulders, falling off his forehead and curling slightly around his chin. His eyes were bright and clear. No more than a hundred and fifty years had passed since his initiation.

"Hurry it up," Gyrus said, disgruntledly.

Narre marked his place and lowered the Lexicon.

"What is wrong, brother?" he asked. "Something troubles you."

His role was not only as a surgeon but as a therapist and guidance counsellor to the Marines serving alongside him. He knew everyone in the Second Company by name.

"No," Gyrus said. "I am busy."

He had been anticipating their reunion since returning from Ulis, but now it was here he found himself unable to find the words. Narre was his closest confidante and still he hesitated. It didn't help that the Apothecary hadn't yet passed comment on what he had done in Fastunhive.

"Tell me," Narre said. "You know how it frustrates me, not knowing what is wrong."

"I found a note in my room," Gyrus said, "Asking for a meeting here."

"Do you know who left it?" Narre asked.

Gyrus shook his head.

"It could be Lucius," he said. "Or Sergeant Piraeus." He indicated the copy of the Lexicon in Narre's lap. "I hate to rush you, brother, but whoever sent it is due here in five minutes."

Narre nodded and resumed his search.

"Ah, here we are," he said. "Let us pray."

Gyrus set Maelstrom down on the bench, folded his cloth and stowed it away.

They bowed their heads.

" _O mighty Emperor_ ," Narre read, " _We pray to You for forgiveness and ask that You may punish us for our sins so that we may learn from our mistakes. Remind us that repentance and apologies are for the weak, and the Adeptus Astartes, Your children, are above such things. When we are at our weakest, find it in Your mighty heart to pick us up and give us the strength we need to persevere_." He looked up. "Knowledge and faith."

"Knowledge and faith," Gyrus repeated, and went back to his cleaning.

Narre sat beside him.

"Why are you doing this, brother?" he said.

"Whoever is coming might want to duel me," Gyrus said. "I _will_ be ready for them."

"I fear you misunderstood me," Narre told him. "I meant . . . what keeps you going?"

Marines were difficult creatures to understand, even for those trained in the art of bringing them counsel. Humans often made the mistake of assuming they felt no emotion at all. In fact, the opposite was true. The physiological enhancements bestowed upon them during their initiation relied heavily on the cocktail of hormones produced by puberty to integrate themselves into the host's body. As a result, Marines felt exactly the same emotions as mortal humans, with one exception: fear. They were capable of anxiety and nerves before battle, but not with regard to death or personal injury. Rather, they feared failing the Emperor, the Imperium, their Chapter and themselves. On the other end of the spectrum, they were also capable of genuine friendship, empathy and even true, romantic love, though it was bred out of them and not inherent as with normal unaltered humans. It had to be learned.

"Faith keeps me going," Gyrus said. "I find your welcome prayers a refreshing balm after the trials of combat."

He pulled a fold of his tunic aside to show the bandages wrapped around his chest. His skin was hidden as always beneath the Black Carapace.

"They help fend off the pain from my physical wounds," he said.

"That is a line in the Lexicon," Narre said, "If I remember correctly."

Gyrus smiled.

" _Although my body may be broken and my worldly form is failing_ ," he quoted, " _I am strong of mind, for I am the instrument of His will and the scourge of xenos and heresy._ Worshipping with you takes me back to the days of Captain Jarfur. You know he has filed a complaint against me?"

"Foolhardiness," Narre remarked. "To think it will work."

"I call it cowardice," Gyrus spat.

"Your promotion was sanctioned by the Master himself," Narre said. "Now Jarfur wants to overturn it? He cannot hope to succeed."

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"What do you make of me, brother?" Gyrus said.

"I do not know," Narre admitted. "You and I have fought together for decades. Not many Astartes share our depth of friendship. I am sure Chaplain Aurelius would look upon it with disdain. But then . . ." He trailed off. "Name the three basic tenets of the White Knights."

"Discipline, honour and teamwork," Gyrus recited.

"And you broke two of them by disobeying Jarfur's orders," Narre said, flatly. "After I left the Third Company, you became very close with the Captain. Why did you do it?"

"To save thirty lives," Gyrus said. "Do you believe that?"

Narre's answer came without hesitation.

"I do," he said. "You know that."

He sighed and climbed to his feet.

"You will not stay?" Gyrus said, disappointedly.

"I have places to be," Narre explained. "Take care of yourself. I . . . oh, look who is here."

"Apothecary," Lucius greeted him, as he walked up to them. "And Gyrus. You saw my note."

Gyrus looked him up and down. He also wore no armour, just a tunic over his Black Carapace.

"Lucius," he said. "Why are you here? To take the moral high ground again?"

Narre laughed.

"I shall leave you to it," he excused himself. "Tell me who wins."

He patted Lucius on the shoulder and left them.

The two Astartes leaned against the wall, watching the various fights unfolding before them. Every now and then, a cheer would rise into the air as a duel was decided.

Gyrus glanced at Lucius, his face set. He had no intention of hiding his views.

"You do not need to do this," he said. "Your behaviour with Second Captain Harlus was frankly despicable. Giving up your place at the White Council and gifting it to me was a pointless act of generosity. It should be _you_ preparing to make your voice heard, not me."

"I disagree," Lucius said. "It would have been wrong to settle our dispute with something as simple and ineffective as words. It is not the Knights' way. And I do not want to see any of my brothers punished by the Inquisition. They have no business with us."

"How _would_ you settle our dispute?" Gyrus asked.

Lucius' eyes flashed.

"Through battle," he said.

"As you wish," Gyrus said.

He retrieved Maelstrom and made his way to the nearest set of sparring mats.

Lucius took his own blade from a locker. He held it out before him.

"This is Occatio," he said. "It has tasted the blood of hundreds of xenos."

"We shall see how it fares against me," Gyrus said.

He dropped into the correct position, crouching low and pointing his sword directly at Lucius.

There were a tense few seconds while they both watched the other's expression, then Lucius lunged forward with a jab towards the shoulder.

Gyrus leaned to one side, dodging the attack, and slid Occatio out of the way. It went wide to his right, allowing him to dart inside Lucius' defence and aim for his ribs.

Lucius was too fast. He knocked Gyrus away with a blow to his shoulder.

The duel was over as soon as it had begun.

Gyrus regained his balance to see the blade headed straight for his face. He barely had any time to respond. He just managed to lean left and close his eyes. Before he realised what had happened, he was sprawled over the bench, his head throbbing with pain.

"Brother," Lucius said. "Are you alright?"

"I am fine," he replied, pulling himself upright and checking himself in the mirror. There was a long, deep gash in his right cheek. Blood was running down his neck and staining his tunic.

Lucius put Occatio down and extended a hand.

Gyrus shook it warmly.

"Well fought," Lucius said. "I would rather have lost to you here than in some contest of wills against the wishes of Captain Jarfur."

"I appreciate your warm words," Gyrus said.

Lucius smiled.

"I must admit," he said, "I formed the wrong impression of you. Not many among the Company would have accepted defeat with such good grace."

"Thank you," Gyrus said. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to visit Apothecary Narre."

"Of course," Lucius nodded. "Knowledge and faith."

Gyrus left the training room. Across the reception chamber, which was busy with aides and adjutants as ever, was the operating theatre. He found Apothecary Narre sitting at his desk, scrolling through records on his personal cogitator.

"When I said take care of yourself," Narre said, rising and seeing his wound, "I meant you were supposed to beat him."

Gyrus chuckled, then grimaced with the pain.

Narre put a hand on his chin and looked at him closely.

"This looks like cause for an implant," he said. "He has split your masseter in two, which means you will have trouble chewing without help. I will put in some adamantium pins to hold it together."

"Do what you think is best," Gyrus said.

Narre put the bottle down and swung a robotic arm down from the ceiling. At the end was an assortment of blades and saws, easily capable of cutting through bone and flesh.

Gyrus waited patiently while the local anaesthetic was applied, then one of the tools whirred and began the operation. It neatly removed a slice of skin and peeled it away.

Narre took it, threw it into a disposable bag and made sure it was sealed.

Clamps moved into place to hold the wound wide open so a metal grille could be fitted. The slats were placed over his cheek and two high-power lasers sculpted it into the right shape. He felt nothing throughout the whole procedure, but was aware of movement somewhere below his eye. A pressure pad pushed the grille into the hole and miniature drills screwed it in, the nails burying themselves into the side of his skull.

Narre cleaned it one last time and retrieved an auspex. The device had several trailing wires attached to it.

"This will not take a moment," he said. "I am just making the new hardware compatible with your current circuitry."

He plugged the wires into the terminals at the base of Gyrus' neck and issued a few commands. The slats on the grille swivelled into the closed position.

"Breathe in," Narre ordered.

When Gyrus took a breath, the slats opened to maximise airflow.

"Good," Narre said. "We are done."

"That was fast," Gyrus remarked.

"It was not a serious injury," Narre told him.

The door hissed open and Captain Harlus entered, wearing his tunic. He looked troubled.

"Gyrus," he said, "I have been trying to find you."

"Do you need me for something, sir?" Gyrus said.

"We have nearly arrived at the meeting point," Harlus said. "I have been searching for you." He saw Gyrus' face and frowned. "I thought the problem was with your chest."

"He was in a duel," Narre explained. "An ill-advised one, if you ask me."

"It was with Lucius," Gyrus said.

Harlus nodded.

"Am I to take it you lost?" he asked.

"I did," Gyrus said.

"That will have reassured him," Harlus observed. "In any case, we are to meet Sergeant Piraeus in the hangar as soon as possible."

"Yes sir," Gyrus said, and glanced at Narre. "Thank you, Apothecary."


	16. S2 E7: White Council

Series II - Rising Star

Episode VII - White Council

 _The duel is done and Lucius is the victor, but Gyrus' honour in accepting his defeat has gone a long way to repair their friendship. Now he has an entirely new set of problems to handle. Inquisitor Orrick has arrived to conduct her investigation of the Chapter and Third Captain Jarfur has seen his opportunity to get his revenge on Gyrus for disobeying him. Now the Company Captains are convening for the White Council session that will determine Gyrus' fate._

Three ships were suspended in the emptiness of space. The first was the _Last Hope of the Weary_ and the second was the Inquisitorial vessel, but the third was the White Knight's battle barge. She was seven kilometres long, bristling with thousands of turrets and crenellations. Her superstructure was built in the image of a soaring Gothic cathedral, one thousand metres from end to end. The cathedral's nave sat proud over the spine of the ship, which extended before it and widened at the end for the forward gun batteries. Its sides were lined with drop pod bays, each one permanently prepped and ready for use. There was a dorsal hangar inside the cathedral itself, accessed through a giant field projected over a hole in its arched roof. It was through this opening that the Stormraven _Voice of Terra_ descended. Retro-rockets screamed to slow it down. It landed smoothly on the tiled and decorated floor of the nave and its ramp opened with a dull hiss.

"Welcome back," Captain Harlus said, as he strode out into the open, "To the _Glory of Russala_."

Gyrus looked around in awe. He had visited the colossal vessel before but it never failed to amaze him. Imperial hymns and marches floated through the air, along with the smell of incense from millions of burning candles. Choirs of servitors lined the walls, offering endless prayers to the Emperor. Skull drones flitted past, carrying important documents and information. The cathedral was mostly used for worship, though a sizable area had been partitioned off beneath the hole in the roof for incoming ships to land in. The semicircular wall at the end was set with stained glass windows.

Harlus led Gyrus and Sergeant Piraeus through the masses of kneeling serfs. They all caught fragments of their chants as they passed. The serfs were initiates who had failed their testing and had been given over to a life of servitude and dedication to the Emperor. Ringing the beautiful patterned windows at the front of the nave were ten desks, each one with three seats behind it. In the middle of them was a large podium.

"Captain!" came a call, and the three of them turned.

Sanctus Grimfist found his way over to them.

Harlus stiffened and linked his hands behind his back.

"Sir," he said.

"Glad you could join us," Grimfist said, patting him warmly on the shoulder.

Gyrus bowed down, lowering his eyes respectfully.

"My lord," he said. "It is an honour to be here."

"I knew you would make it," Grimfist said, generously. "But much as I would love to stay here and congratulate you, I cannot talk for long. The meeting begins in a few minutes. Knowledge and faith, brothers. I shall see you there."

"Knowledge and faith," Harlus echoed, and Grimfist walked off.

Harlus watched him go for a few moments.

"The Knights could not have asked for a better leader," he said.

"He did not seem surprised to see me here," Gyrus said.

"Well, he would not," Piraeus observed, sharply. "Now Inquisitor Orrick is here, the Master is keen to find ways of appearing honourable. It would not be good for his reputation if he was seen to abandon his rising star."

"I had not thought of that," Gyrus admitted.

"Keep your mind open, brother," Piraeus said. "You will need sharp nerves to go up in a debate."

Gyrus was surprised at the advice. He knew Piraeus didn't support his actions.

"Thank you," he said.

"Time is wasting," Harlus said. "With me."

They continued on their journey. The crowd parted to let them through.

A couple of servitors were working at a nearby terminal, wires trailing from their necks as they browsed and updated the _Glory_ 's systems.

As the Astartes approached, they came across a path through the serfs, marked by two rows of flickering candles. The floor at the head of the nave was decorated with a tiled depiction of the Emperor kneeling and resting his sword on the ground. His ornate, meticulously detailed helmet marked the White Council's meeting area. Their boots gave a clunk each time they came down on the golden tiles.

A couple of attendants were waiting at their allotted desk, sifting through sheaves of papers.

"Sir," one of them said to Harlus, "Is there anything you require?"

"We are fine," Harlus answered, flatly. "You can go."

They returned to their posts.

The three Marines took their places.

Around the circle, Gyrus could see their counterparts deep in discussion.

Jarfur was staring at him intensely, his bright green eyes focussed and piercing.

He shivered slightly and glanced at Piraeus.

"How long until it begins, Sergeant?" he asked.

"I do not know," Piraeus said. "It is up to the Master."

"Do you have counsel for me?" Gyrus said. "This is my first White Council."

Piraeus nodded.

"As your Sergeant," he explained, "I have the exclusive right to speak for you if you cannot do it yourself or if you would like me to represent you. I am bound by the Lexicon to be honest, though, so I advise you to fight your own quarter when it comes to your promotion. That is something we shall have to disagree on."

"And Captain Harlus?" Gyrus said. "Why is he here?"

"I am here to further _your_ cause," Piraeus said, "Whereas he is standing for the whole Company. He has his own agenda, though in this case I would not be surprised if it overlaps with ours. If . . ." He trailed off. "Ah, we are beginning. Just do as you are told."

The Chapter Master had taken the stand. His voice was magnified a hundred times over by the microphone on the table in front of him.

"Knights," he said, and silence fell. His words echoed around the cathedral and the assembled serfs hushed their prayers. It was eerily quiet. "We are gathered here for the seven thousandth, one hundred and thirty-eighth White Council. Let us begin with the Grand Hymn."

There was a pause, and then the gigantic organ at the far end of the nave bust into life. The entire ship shook as the low, droning bass notes washed over them. Countless choirs sang along. The Marines stood respectfully with their eyes closed and listened to the lyrics. They were Old Gothic, and Gyrus knew their meaning had been lost over the centuries. According to legend it was a kind of prayer, begging forgiveness from the Emperor and asking for strength against the forces of heresy and disobedience. After a few minutes, the last chords faded.

Grimfist beckoned for them all to sit.

Farus climbed onto the podium and sat beside him upon it.

"This meeting is now in session," he announced. "Chapter Master Sanctus Grimfist will be first to speak. Sanctus?"

"Six weeks ago," Grimfist said, "We gathered here to discuss the unfolding situation on the planet Ulis. The Tau had invaded and we found ourselves at a loss. The world's fall would represent a severe blow to the security of Segmentum Ultra, but the Chapter was already tied down in a war with the Orks. I chose to leave the foul greenskins to the Imperial Guard and take the fight to the Tau. It was a worthy choice and it is a testament to the Knights' skill and bravery that many of the faces before me have not changed."

Gyrus could have sworn Grimfist was looking at Jarfur, but he knew the Third Captain had to hold his tongue. This was the Master's time, not his.

"Unfortunately," Grimfist went on, tempering his pride with a touch of remorse, "No fewer than five of our finest Third Company Marines lost their lives during the battle in Fastunhive. The figure would doubtless have been higher if not for one Astarte's quick thinking." He paused. "I believe Gyrus is here in person, having distinguished himself on Ulis."

"Sir," Gyrus acknowledged. "I am here."

He did not stand, knowing that he would not be invited to address the gathering himself, but it was an honour to be mentioned in person so soon. He hadn't expected Grimfist to raise his name until later in the session.

"I do not envy you," Grimfist said, graciously. "It is regrettable that you occupy such a position, but those are the facts. The Lexicon gives me the power to make any decision I wish regarding promotion between Companies, but it also allows Captains to file complaints with me."

Gyrus nodded to him and he looked away.

"Before we develop this conflict further," he went on, "I would like to remind you all that Gyrus saved thirty lives. Whatever we say, that cannot be disputed."

Jarfur immediately rose to his feet.

"Objection!" he cried.

Farus tutted disapprovingly.

"The Master is speaking," he said.

"Go ahead, Jarfur," Grimfist said, to the surprise of everyone present. "Share your thoughts."

"This man," Jarfur snapped, pointing to Gyrus, "Is clearly a favourite of yours. First you promote him, now you see fit to praise him before the entire Chapter. If this is the tone you will set from the beginning, I might as well leave."

"Attendance is mandatory," Grimfist said.

"Indeed it is, for meetings of the White Council," Jarfur said. "But I would not call this such a meeting. I would call it a sham!"

There was a collective gasp. The Knights venerated their Master with an almost religious zeal and the White Council was intended as an opportunity for him to lead the discussion. To insult him to his face in front of the Company Captains was a bold move indeed.

Grimfist folded his arms.

"Then go," he said. "I am on the verge of throwing you out myself."

Several of the attendees gave nods of approval. They clearly took his view.

"This is exactly what I mean to say," Jarfur persevered, undeterred by his lack of support. "How dare you invite me here just so you can demean me in front of my fellows? It is not the Knights' way!"

"Captain Jarfur," Farus cut in, "We are not here to discuss whether Gyrus' interpretation of the Lexicon was legal. Let me remind you that the Master summoned you here to help us decide how to treat the Inquisitor."

"The two are inextricably linked," Jarfur argued.

"In what way?" Grimfist asked.

Farus turned to him.

"Sanctus," he said, "You cannot seriously pay Jarfur any thought. His insults were in direct breach of protocol."

No-one spoke. That was a serious allegation.

Farus cleared his throat and explained himself.

"Attendees of the White Council cannot accuse each other of violating the Lexicon," he said. "Only the Master is capable of making such a claim. By rights, Captain Jarfur, you should be expelled for your behaviour."

"When last I checked," Jarfur quipped, "It was impossible to be expelled from a joke."

"Silence!" Grimfist ordered.

He was unquestioningly obeyed.

"I will allow the Captain to stay," he decided. "He does his reputation no favours by insulting a Marine I view as an example for us all. But nonetheless, he has a right to his view. Go on, Jarfur."

"Gyrus is the one who went against the Lexicon, not me," Jarfur insisted. "It specifically states, in chapter four, line eighty-one, that soldiers are to follow orders _at all times_ to further the White Knights' cause. It then goes on to point out that the loss of life due to obedience can be blamed on the commanding officer."

"What are you saying?" Grimfist said. "If Gyrus had done as you told him, those men would have died and I would be punishing you. Surely you cannot object."

Jarfur dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"That is in the past now," he replied, contemptuously. "And you cannot prosecute on hypothetical evidence. My point is that what Gyrus did was simply illegal. That is the end of it. As a result, I would argue that he _deserves_ to be handed over to the Inquisition."

"Ridiculous!" Harlus shouted, rising to his feet.

"Second Company Captain Harlus has the stand," Farus muttered. "For what it is worth."

"Allowing the Inquisition to determine Gyrus' fate is tantamount to a death penalty," Harlus said. "And I will not allow a capable Marine to be thrown away with such ease. Have you no regard for the sanctity of our lives, Jarfur?"

Jarfur bristled.

"Maybe I will answer that," he said, "When _you_ show some respect for our Lexicon. This is the book we live by, the book onto which we are sworn into the Chapter, and you would throw it all away. It is the beginning of a slippery slope, Harlus. Disobedience leads to heresy."

"Back to the point," Farus ordered. "Lest I command you to sit."

Jarfur folded his arms.

"I move that we change the subject matter of this Council to a debate over whether allowing the Inquisitor to interrogate Gyrus is the best way to placate her," he said. "If we find Gyrus guilty of misconduct in Fastunhive, we hand him over. If not, Chapter Master, you will have you justify your decision to the Inquisition."

There was a pause.

"Let us vote," Grimfist said.

It was tradition that a Company Captain chosen at random was trusted to decide. The attendant servitors' cogitators whirred and selected a name.

"Captain Harlus," Farus read out. "The choice is yours."

"Objection!" Jarfur repeated.

"Denied," Grimfist replied, before Farus could speak. "You cannot say fairer than a name chosen at random. Harlus, what say you? Do we debate Gyrus' conduct?"

Gyrus looked at Harlus.

He was clearly torn. He'd defended him in the past, but he didn't want to ruin his already damaged friendship with Jarfur.

"We should," he said.

"Very well," Grimfist concluded. "We will break for half an hour so the Captains can review the evidence for their final decision."

"This meeting is hereby suspended," Farus said. "To recommence in thirty minutes."


	17. S2 E8: Astronomican

Series II - Rising Star

Episode VIII - Astronomican

 _Third Captain Jarfur's audacious gambit has worked; he has persuaded the White Council to consider Gyrus' misconduct in their decision on whether or not to hand him over to the Inquisitor for punishment. Now he must make the case in the next session that Gyrus' actions contravened the Lexicon. Faced with that prospect, Gyrus plans to seek advice from an unlikely source._

"Sir," Gyrus said. "I came to see you."

Farus did not reply. He was kneeling at the base of a statue in the starboard transept of the cathedral. The solid bronze sculpture showed the Emperor gazing stoically into the middle distance, as if pondering his plans for mankind and the Great Crusade he had led ten millennia ago.

Gyrus frowned.

"Sir?" he repeated. "I can come back later if you wish."

"That would be good," Farus muttered. "I am praying."

"Sorry to have disturbed you," Gyrus apologised.

Farus cast his mind into the Warp and sensed the nature of the soul behind him. He climbed to his feet and turned.

"I did not realise it was you," he said.

"I am allowed to speak with you, am I not?" Gyrus asked.

Farus tilted his head to one side and then the other.

"Yes," he said. "But I highly doubt Jarfur would take it lightly if we were seen together. It might be best for you to speak quietly." He sighed. "This is a day for the history books. There has not been a proper debate during a White Council meeting for centuries."

"And it is all over me," Gyrus said.

"Consider yourself lucky," Farus told him, warmly. "You have my aid, if you so wish. You can stand as either a member of a squad, a Company or the whole Chapter. Sergeant Piraeus does not take your side, and Captain Harlus is afraid to hurt his standing with Captain Jarfur. But if you stand as a member of the Chapter, it is _my_ duty to defend you."

"Is that for the best?" Gyrus said.

"I could not say," Farus told him. "I am certainly out of practice, but I know the Lexicon better than anyone else on this ship."

He indicated a set of doors built into the wall at the end of the transept.

"Follow me," he said.

They set off towards them.

Gyrus examined Farus a little more closely as they went. He had no implants, which was unusual for an Astarte of such high status.

"Do not be worried," Farus advised. "The odds are weighted in your favour. Sanctus likes you."

"Does he?" Gyrus said. "Sergeant Piraeus pointed out that he _has_ to take my side."

Farus keyed a code into the lift's control panel and they waited.

"Sanctus and I have served together for over two hundred years," he said. "He tells me everything, including his doubts about Jarfur. The Third Captain is in deep trouble now, whether or not his appeal is successful – and I highly doubt it will be."

"That is reassuring, sir," Gyrus said.

"It should be," Farus nodded. "Sanctus and I were together in the First Company. He was the Captain and I was the Librarian attached to them. When he became Master, I was promoted alongside him to my current position."

The doors opened and they stepped inside.

Farus selected a destination from the list provided and the lift began to descend.

"Having you defend me makes sense," Gyrus had decided. "Who better to preserve the Marines' loyalty than the man most exposed to the very forces that seek to pervert it?"

Farus chuckled.

"Your speaking makes me a role model for us all," he said. "I would have liked to hear more of it during the meeting. Why did you let everyone else talk over you?"

"I did not intend to," Gyrus said. "But they kept going. I would rather duel them one by one than beat them with words. Speech is infinitely inferior to physical strength."

"And that is where you begin to falter," Farus lamented. "You are too confrontational."

"It is the way of the Knights to fight each other," Gyrus pointed out. "That is how we learn."

"What do you know about our ways?" Farus said.

His voice had changed. It was harsh and cold.

"Were you _fighting_ Captain Jarfur when you refused to do as he told you?" he said. "I call that an assassination with words if ever there were one."

"I knew it," Gyrus said, bitterly. "In my experience, people such as you are all the same. You think you are better than the rank and file because you have studied more. As far as I am concerned, that is a coward's way out. I'm sick of it."

"Try channelling some of that passion into your defence," Farus said.

"Do _not_ tell me what to do," Gyrus snapped, reflexively.

"Why should I not?" Farus said. "I hold a higher rank than you. I am the Chapter Master's closest ally and I am the one who has to ensure you are not strung up for torture by the Inquisitor."

Gyrus lowered his gaze.

To his surprise, Farus simply waited until he looked up once more.

"My point," he said, kindly, "Is that whether you like it or not, you are fighting a war of words. Violence does not solve every problem. Realising that is the key to unlocking your future. Once you do, your ascent through this Chapter will be endless."

"You truly mean that?" Gyrus said, feeling a little giddy.

"I see great deeds ahead," Farus told him. "Mark my words. One day the Lexicon will talk of Master Gyrus and the victories he won for the Imperium."

"Perhaps I should clear my name first," Gyrus said.

Farus laughed.

"That would be a fine place to start," he agreed, dryly.

Gyrus returned his smile and turned their conversation over in his mind. He liked Farus. The Chief Librarian was clearly one of the wisest members of the Chapter. He'd make a good defendant.

The lift arrived and they stepped out into a large hall. The wall on their right was stained glass. Dappled shafts of light slanted over the floor. At the far end of the hall was a golden pulpit, carved into the shape of a rising eagle with a book held securely in the crux of its wings. Vents built into the ceiling filled the space with a strange white mist and the smell of disinfectant.

Farus indicated that Gyrus should stay where he was and crossed to the book. He entered a code into a wall console and unlocked its case.

"What is that, sir?" Gyrus said.

"This is the Lexicon, Gyrus," Farus said.

He held the weighty tome up. Dust poured from its sides every time he moved it. The pages were worn and tattered, each one securely pressed between two sheets of plastic.

Gyrus could make out intricate illustrations and diagrams. They were drawn in gold leaf and ancient dyes. He knew it was thousands of years old.

"Is it signed?" he said.

"No," Farus said. "This is but the closest copy we have. The original has been lost to time."

Gyrus walked over, took it from him and examined it closely. Like every other Knight, he had a scholar's copy in his quarters.

"Why have you brought me here?" he said. "To teach me some kind of lesson?"

Farus nodded.

"There was a time," he said, "When the role of each Marine was to uphold our philosophy and spread word of the Emperor to the dark corners of the galaxy. These days, it is simply the preservation of the Chapter. Our survival necessitates a utilitarian approach. I am certain that Jarfur can be persuaded to see as much."

Gyrus frowned.

"Is it not written somewhere?" he said, pointing to the Lexicon.

"I have looked long and hard," Farus said. "But found nothing."

"But you think I will be cleared," Gyrus pointed out.

"I am certain of it," Farus replied. "Sanctus and I are on your side, as are many of the Captains. We would like to see a little more input from you, though."

"What of Sergeant Piraeus?" Gyrus asked.

"He has no vote," Farus said. "And if he did, he would follow Jarfur." He checked his chronometer. "We do not have long, Gyrus. I am glad we spoke. Going into the debate without having this discussion would have weakened our cause."

He turned to the lift.

Gyrus put the book back in its place and used the console to lock its case once more.

"My lord," he said. "One more thing."

"Of course," Farus said. "Anything."

The question had been preying on Gyrus' mind since the beginning of their conversation. He had talked with Librarians before but never at such length. Farus appeared to trust him, and he trusted Farus back in return. He asked without hesitation.

"What is it like to inhabit the Warp?" he said. "Is it painful?"

Farus smiled.

"Why do you care, Astarte?" he said. "I keep you safe. It makes no difference if it hurts me."

"But you face Chaos all the time," Gyrus said. "That must scare you."

"I am reminded of a quote from my fellow Chief Librarian, Varro Tigurius," Farus told him. "He had a similar question put to him by Master Calgar."

An alien feeling animated Gyrus' bones. The world dropped away into darkness, until all he could see was a figure before him. His armour was coloured the rich blue of the Ultramarines Chapter. As he watched, he reached up and removed his helmet, revealing a noble face with gaunt cheeks and eyes brimming with energy.

" _It cannot be considered a gift_ ," came Tigurius' voice, filling Gyrus' head, " _To peer into the Warp and unravel the possibilities of the future that are, that might be, and that must be prevented. Nor can the burden of a weapon, that each of my brothers looks upon with girded revulsion, be called a gift. No, Master, I do not think my psychic prowess a gift . . . but a tool. Whether by a quirk of fate, or the will of the Emperor, I possess a weapon the like of which can turn the tide, not just in a battle but in the course of history. To withhold it, to flinch from its use or deny it, would not just be counter-productive, it would be heresy. But if it is a gift, it is a cruel one_."

The vision fell away and Gyrus was back in the hall.

"In battle," Farus said, "I delve into the Etherium and draw psychic powers from it. It is a tool for me as it is for Varro, something I can use to deliver His will. And . . ."

Gyrus watched with fascination as his eyes brightened like Tigurius' had.

"Each time I do so," he said, "I can feel a presence on my shoulder, like faith is sitting behind me and keeping me on the right path."

"The Astronomican," Gyrus said, understanding his meaning. The Astronomican was the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's consciousness.

"It is the most amazing sensation," Farus said. "The mind of the Emperor watches over you, guiding you and protecting you: a beacon, shining through the fog and allowing you to find your way no matter where you are. Yes, I am exposed to the temptations of heresy, but I am more aware than ever that _He loves us_. Every second of every day His vast consciousness is judging and weighing us, and He _never_ finds us wanting."

Gyrus sighed.

"I envy you," he admitted.

"Do not envy me," Farus said. "Only the most incorruptible of souls can bear such a responsibility. Even you would make an easy target for the Dark Gods." He beckoned to the door. "Now, we must take our leave of this. The meeting is due to resume."


	18. S2 E9: Judicial Process

Series II - Rising Star

Episode IX - Judicial Process

 _The White Council debate is due to resume, but Gyrus now has reason to hope he will be found innocent of misconduct. Chief Librarian Farus has explained that both he and Master Grimfist support Gyrus' decision. Unfortunately that support can only be passive, as Gyrus must now take the stand and defend himself. This is the moment he has been waiting for, the moment he fought for on Ulis. It is during this meeting that his fate will be decided._

"This debate is now in session," Farus said. "Chapter Master Sanctus Grimfist has the stand."

They were back in the nave, only this time Gyrus had been moved to sit on the podium along with Farus and Grimfist.

Jarfur stood in the centre of the semicircle, pacing from side to side. He had chosen Piraeus as his witness and the Sergeant waited patiently just behind him. After Narre left the Third Company for the Second, Gyrus and Jarfur had become close friends. Now the Captain threw him the occasional glace as he passed, which he returned with a blank expression. He didn't want to give anything away.

"Let us make this quick," Grimfist said. "We have a lot to get through, and this whole issue is just a distraction. For those of you who are new to the process, debates at White Councils are simple. The defendant gives an opening statement, the prosecution rebuts it and the defendant's representative gives his view. No-one else may speak. At the end, all the Captains render a verdict. Gyrus?"

"I am prepared," Gyrus said.

"Then begin," Grimfist said, "By all means."

Gyrus looked down at Jarfur, who had stopped pacing and was staring at him. The contrast between him and Piraeus could not have been any clearer. As he watched, Piraeus cleared his throat with a whir of machinery and the click of his mechanised vocal cords.

Gyrus did the same. He swung the microphone over so it was near his mouth.

"Greetings, Captains, Sergeants and Marines," he said. "I am here today to justify my actions in Fastunhive. For those of you who do not know, I was serving under Captain Jarfur at the time. We were ordered to regroup around a basilica on the hive's second level to protect the Chapter Master, but I knew that around a third of the Company was still defending one of the city's spaceports. A Tau jammer prevented us from contacting them. Against orders, I decided to break rank and alert them. As a result, the vanguard force of Tau tanks en route to their position redirected to attack the basilica, where it was defeated. I was earmarked for promotion by the Master, against Captain Jarfur's wishes. Although the Captain attempted to intervene, I was moved up to the Second Company a few days ago and assigned to Sergeant Piraeus."

"Objection!" Jarfur said.

"Accepted," Grimfist said. "Speak quickly."

Jarfur turned to him.

"I never went against you, Master," he said. "When I was aware that you wished to promote Gyrus, I expressly told you that I would not stand in your way."

"That is a lie," Grimfist said, resentfully. "A dirty lie, Jarfur, and you know it."

"I am telling the truth," Jarfur insisted.

"You came to me and filed an official complaint," Grimfist said. "Now you say you did not stand in my way?"

There was silence for a few moments.

Jarfur was still staring at him, a look of animosity on his face.

Grimfist ignored him.

Gyrus could guess why Jarfur had made such a bold claim, even in blatant defiance of the truth. He'd thought the Master would hate to call him out on it and embarrass him in front of everyone present. Instead, his plan had backfired.

"Carry on, Gyrus," Grimfist said.

Gyrus nodded. He remembered Farus' words. He would be bold.

"I should not have to explain what I did," he said, firmly. "It is obvious. I placed the safety of my fellow Astartes above my own. Whether or not I disobeyed Jarfur is surely irrelevant. He is the one you should be punishing. He would have thrown away thirty lives."

"That is a separate hearing," Jarfur growled.

"It is," Grimfist agreed. "But he can still use that fact as evidence, and I believe he is right. You acted without thinking, Captain. Those men are alive today _despite_ your actions."

"Nonsense!" Jarfur spat. "I was doing what I thought best!"

"Then you were wrong," Grimfist said.

Whispers shot through the cathedral. It was a damning indictment.

Jarfur said nothing. He had been humbled.

"I think that is all we need to hear," Grimfist said. "After you, Captain."

Farus took down the last of his notes and leaned over to the microphone.

"Third Company Captain Jarfur has the stand," he said.

Jarfur spent a moment of his time gathering his thoughts. He'd been put on the back foot by Grimfist and now he had some ground to make up.

"The Lexicon," he said, "Is the foundation upon which our glorious Chapter is built. It was written by our first Master, and though the original is now gone, we still live by it. There is an entire section devoted to explaining how individual Astartes can further the Knights' cause. Among the various pieces of advice it gives is this quote."

He took out a well-fingered pocket book and found his page.

" _In order to keep Marines in line and to reduce the risk of insubordination_ ," he read, " _All members must follow the rules set out here as closely as is practical_."

Farus started jotting down notes.

"From this," Jarfur said, "You can all clearly see how Gyrus was in direct breach of the Lexicon." He nodded to Farus. "I am finished here."

"I think," Farus said, climbing to his feet, "Anyone here can tell that Captain Jarfur has not been studying our holy book carefully enough."

"Objection!" Jarfur cried, though he was drowned out by the raucous shouting from the delegations at the desks.

Farus smiled to himself.

"Order!" Grimfist barked. "Order!"

The cathedral slowly fell silent.

"How dare you," Jarfur said, looking directly at Farus.

"Yes, Farus," Grimfist said. "Are you making an accusation?"

"I most certainly am," Farus replied. "For if he had taken time to properly look over the very passage he read out instead of merely picking a random mantra and shoving it down our throats, he would have spotted the glaring error in his argument. You are fundamentally wrong, Jarfur, and I will tell you why."

"Go ahead," Jarfur spat. "I would like to see what nonsense you have come up with."

"Remind me of that last phrase, will you?" Farus requested.

Jarfur flicked back through his book.

Gyrus watched his face pale. He had realised his mistake.

"I should not have to justify . . ." he began.

"Just say it again," Grimfist cut in. "That is an order."

Jarfur nodded.

" _All members must follow the rules set out here as closely as is practical_ ," he dutifully read.

"Correct," Farus said. "And that was thousands of years ago. Could the authors possibly have anticipated the Tau? Or, for that matter, could they have predicted that our beloved Chapter would be under dire threat from servants of the Emperor Himself? I think not. Gyrus _was not_ defying the Lexicon when he disobeyed you, Captain. He was merely _following the rules as closely as is practical_."

He surveyed the room, filled with nodding heads.

"Thank you," he said.

"How can you give this . . . this _traitor_ any credit?" Jarfur demanded, pointing to Gyrus. "He did not even qualify properly to attend this meeting! He is a fraudster and a thief!"

"Sit down," Grimfist said. "I will not have you slandering my Astartes."

"Of course you will not," Jarfur said. "He is your favourite, is he not? And we all know how much our divine Chapter Master likes to pick favourites. Is that not that right, Chief Librarian?"

Farus bristled.

"I do not know what you mean," he said.

"I think you do," Jarfur told him. "While we have the Captains assembled here, why do you not tell the story of how your friend Sanctus Grimfist became Master?"

Farus glanced at Grimfist.

He said nothing.

"Very well," Jarfur said. "If you will not relate it, I will. Kandras made it clear that he intended for me to succeed him as Master. But Sanctus . . ."

"Captain," Grimfist interrupted, calmly, "If you do not stop talking right now, I will expel you from this Chapter and turn you over to the Inquisition myself. I do not mean to serve my own ends. What you are saying is harmful to your reputation, to my reputation and to the reputation of the White Knights. Furthermore, personal attacks against me are not relevant to this discussion. I do not care how legitimate you believe your grievances are."

Jarfur did not reply.

No-one knew what to say.

"Captain Jarfur," Farus ventured, "You still hold the stand."

Jarfur shook his head to gather his thoughts.

"Sergeant," he said, gesturing to Piraeus, "Will you not testify in my favour? Gyrus took Lucius' place from him in a heartless act of betrayal. Do you think our Lexicon sanctions that?"

"Is this true?" Grimfist asked.

"He is lying," Gyrus replied. "Tell him, Sergeant."

Piraeus looked from Grimfist to Jarfur, then back again. He was clearly in two minds.

"Go on," Gyrus said. "Please, brother."

"Objection!" Jarfur shouted, once more. "He is trying to influence him by appearing pitiful!"

"I will have silence on my ship," Grimfist told him. "When I tell you to do something, I expect to be obeyed. I want Sergeant Piraeus to bring some clarity to this situation. Until he does, I will personally throw out anyone who utters a word."

There was a tense pause.

Grimfist took a moment to catch his breath.

"Piraeus," he said. "Which of them is right? Did Gyrus truly betray one of his squadmates?"

"He did not," Piraeus said.

"This is unfair!" Jarfur insisted. "Can you not see he is biased? You are _all_ biased!"

"I reject that, Captain," Piraeus said.

Jarfur turned to him.

He paid it no attention.

"Master Grimfist," he went on, "Captain Jarfur has deliberately deceived you. Yes, I awarded the place to Lucius, but he knowingly handed it over. What is more, the two went on to duel over it. The records are there if you desire proof."

"I can trust you," Grimfist said. "I hope you are happy with yourself, Jarfur. You came here trying to have one of your oldest allies turned over to the Inquisition, something I would consider a death sentence. Instead, you have managed to alienate myself and Chief Librarian Farus, as well as – I hope – most of the other Company Captains. Before you start calling me a boastful victor, let us move on to the vote. All who find Gyrus innocent of insubordination and thus above reprimand from the Inquisition, show it now."

The nine Captains raised their hands.

"This White Council rules in favour of the defendant," Farus announced. "Nine to one. Unless you were planning to abstain, Jarfur?"

"What is the Chapter coming to?" Jarfur hissed. "You have let our ancestors down!"

"The only disappointment in this chamber is you," Grimfist told him. "I would like to see you in my office rightaway. The rest of you are dismissed until further notice. Tomorrow, I plan to resume the discussion where we left off, with Gyrus and Jarfur absent."

"This meeting his hereby suspended," Farus said. "Pending an announcement from the Master."


	19. S3 E1: Political Fallout

Series III - Fastunhive

Episode I - Political Fallout

 _The White Council has rendered its verdict: Gyrus is innocent of going against the Lexicon and thus safe from being sent to Inquisitor Orrick for punishment. But the ramifications of their decisions will be deeply felt, and for a long time too. Sanctus Grimfist's plan is slowly falling into place._

Gyrus strode along the nave of the gigantic cathedral. The setting sun threw soft light around him and cast long, flickering shadows over the floor. It was a mellow evening in orbit of Castellan II, the Chapter's designated rendezvous point for White Councils. The meeting itself had concluded and now he was on his way to visit the Master, though he had no idea what to expect. Near the organ at the end, he passed a large congregation of servitors, each one plugged into a terminal in the tiles and endlessly reciting songs of praise. They were twisted and warped into the shapes of men, cruel mockeries of humanity forced into singing for evermore. Leading the prayers was one of the Company Chaplains. He was kneeling before an icon and muttering quickly under his breath.

"Gyrus," Farus called, from behind him.

"Sir," he said, in surprise.

"Will you join me in a prayer?" Farus asked.

"Of course," Gyrus nodded.

They knelt together at the end of the back row.

Gyrus closed his eyes to meditate.

"Do you pray often?" Farus asked, without looking up.

"As much as I can, my lord," Gyrus said. "Apothecary Narre and I like to worship together. It keeps the bond of friendships strong. Though I dare say it is more enlightening for you."

"Face me," Farus ordered.

Gyrus glanced up.

Farus was wearing his armour, dark blue and with a psychic hood over his head. A clamp rested on his forehead, and from it extended a multitude of wires and pipes, leading directly to his temples. They pulsed with energy, enhancing his powers and strengthening his resolve. Among them were interwoven veins of crystals to nullify opponents' psychic attacks.

There was a brief flash, and Gyrus recoiled as if struck by a bullet. His head was blisteringly painful. He groaned and stumbled towards the wall to lean against it.

"By the Emperor . . ." he said.

"That is the power of the Warp," Farus said, flatly. "Only a second's exposure is advised. Did you feel His presence?"

"It was like a blinding light," Gyrus muttered, in awe. "A force beyond imagining."

"His mind is there, brother," Farus said, "And it is always watching. You simply cannot sense it as I can. It is both a blessing and a curse. Will you be alright?"

"I am fine," Gyrus assured him. "But if I might ask . . . what was the purpose of that exercise?"

Farus gave one of his wry smiles that almost resembled a grimace.

"Do you not see?" he said. "No prayer is more valuable than any other. He hears all."

He led Gyrus past the organ and up the grand flight of stairs at the very tip of the nave. The meeting area where the White Council had convened was a kilometre behind them. At the top of the stairs was the Master's office, reached by a set of dark wooden doors. They were shut tight and flanked by a pair of guards.

"In truth," Gyrus said, "I owe you some thanks, sir. You defended me admirably."

"I would have done the same for anyone else," Farus said. "We look to the future, brother, and that is most definitely in the past."

The two of them arrived at the doors to find them blocked by the Marines.

"Access is forbidden," one of them declared. "By order of the Chapter Master."

"For what reason?" Farus said.

"Captain Jarfur is inside," the Astarte explained.

"Then you are dismissed," Farus ordered. "Return to your duties."

"Yes sir," they chorused, and stood at ease.

Farus grandly swung both the doors open. The office beyond was large but welcoming, panelled with wood and boasting three windows looking out into the void. Chapter banners hung between them and in front of them was the Master's antique desk.

Gyrus looked around. He had never set foot inside the room before.

Grimfist was leaning aggressively over the desk.

Captain Jarfur sat in the chair before him, looking very small in comparison.

"How am I supposed to keep the Chapter in line when one of its most senior Astartes is little more than a renegade?" Grimfist was shouting. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

Jarfur glanced over his shoulder at Farus and Gyrus.

"My lord," he said, "I do not think it is appropriate for us to discuss this while . . ."

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say to them," Grimfist told him.

Jarfur cleared his throat and rose to his feet.

"I was only doing what I thought was right," he said.

"Then I suggest," Grimfist said, "That you pay a little more thought to the consequences of your actions. For what you did, _you_ should be the one facing the Inquisitor. I am half minded to send you in Gyrus' place and make you our scapegoat. Emperor knows you deserve it."

"I disagree," Jarfur said. "I had only the best intentions."

"Did you _intend_ to lie?" Grimfist demanded.

There was a pause.

"Because that is what you did, Jarfur," Grimfist went on. "And do not let yourself forget it. From this day forth, you can consider yourself dishonourably discharged from the Apostles."

Gyrus frowned. He'd never heard that term before.

Jarfur's reaction told him how much of a blow he had been dealt.

"Please," he said, humbly. "That seems to be . . ."

"Too much?" Grimfist interrupted. "You should be glad you are still here."

"Show me some way to make it up to you, sir," Jarfur begged. "I will do it, I promise."

"Why should I?" Grimfist spat, indicating the other two. "Make your case to me. I have another meeting after this, with guests who do not deserve to be kept waiting."

"Say what you will about my flawed interpretation of the Lexicon," Jarfur said, "But you appointed me to lead the Third Company for a reason. I am one of the finest warriors in the Chapter, and you know it. You cannot afford to lose me."

"Be that as it may," Grimfist admitted, "I hardly see . . ."

"Send me to Ulis," Jarfur suggested, boldly. "Let me fight, to prove I am loyal. Surely you have plans to continue our assault?"

Grimfist stroked his augmetic chin.

"That may work," he said. "I was going to order a fresh attack on Fastunhive now that it is back in Tau hands. The plan was to use the First Company, but the Third would do. I shall keep the First ready to deploy just in case."

"There is no need for that," Jarfur promised. "I can do it."

"That is fine, then," Grimfist said. "You can go."

Gyrus hurriedly stepped out of the way as Jarfur swept past.

The doors slammed shut behind him.

None of them spoke for a few moments, letting the tensions cool.

"He knows his place," Farus observed.

"So he should," Grimfist said. "Sit, Gyrus. Farus and I have something we must discuss."

Gyrus sat in the chair Jarfur had vacated.

Farus leaned on the desk.

Grimfist walked over to the windows and poured himself a glass of wine from the crystal decanter on the sideboard. He took a sip, put it down and linked his arms behind his back.

"What should I do?" he mused. "Farus, you have been my ally longer than anyone else in this Chapter. Do you have any advice?"

"The case of Jarfur is certainly a worrying one," Farus said.

"He wants to fight," Grimfist pointed out.

"So I heard," Farus said. "And you let him."

"Why should I not?" Grimfist asked. "He remains one of the most capable warriors under my command. I would not have reached my current rank by discarding talent when we need it most." He sighed. "The problem is that I do not know if I can trust him. After the call he made on Ulis . . ."

"With all due respect, sir," Gyrus said, interrupting the conversation, "If there had been no hearing, would you be having this debate? I suspect you would have forgiven any other Captain for doing as Jarfur did, or even ignored it entirely. His decision was not unusual."

"What reason is there for you to defend someone who hates you so intensely?" Grimfist asked.

"Honour," Gyrus said.

Grimfist frowned.

"Then it is a strange kind of honour you have, Gyrus," he said. "Seeing an enemy defeated and then fighting his corner speaks of doubts. Are you having second thoughts about his punishment?"

"Not at all," Gyrus said. "I am only agreeing with you about his abilities. You should not let his past record get in the way of the facts. Do not be blinded by your disdain."

Grimfist was silent for a second, then he glanced at Farus.

"Well, old friend," he joked, "It seems I have all the counsel I need right here."

Farus gave a chuckle.

"Just remember," he said, "That this is his success as much as yours."

Grimfist pointed to Gyrus.

"I cannot pin you down, Astarte," he said. "Sergeant Piraeus swears by your combat skills and yet you seem determined to mire yourself in politics. So which are you? A fighter or an orator?"

"A fighter," Gyrus told him. "I find words to be disgusting, backhanded weapons."

"A fine reflection of the White Knights' spirit," Grimfist praised.

"I would happily have duelled Jarfur," Gyrus said, "Had you given me the chance."

Grimfist shook his head.

"Some things just cannot be resolved through combat," he said. "It is a pity, I know, but there is always a time to walk away and start a debate."

He took another sip of his wine.

"We are all very impressed with you," he said, once he'd put the glass back down. "Farus, Piraeus, Harlus and myself. So impressed, in fact, that we have decided you are to act as a kind of insurance. Piraeus and his squad will be going into battle in Fastunhive along with the Third Company."

"Thank you, my lord," Gyrus said, graciously.

"I have also given you clearance to have your sword engraved with a title of your choosing, in celebration of your promotion," Grimfist added. "Visit Stock Officer Hammond on the _Last Hope of the Weary_ and get him to do it for you."

"You did not have to do that, sir," Gyrus said.

"Your record speaks for itself," Grimfist pointed out. "There is just one more thing. This comes with a piece of advice."

He walked around the desk and looked down at Gyrus proudly.

"I have ordered Jarfur to stay away from you," he said. "If he or Sergeant Piraeus tries anything, bring it to me."

"I am not running to the Chapter Master at the first sign of trouble," Gyrus told him. "I shall face these demons alone, sir, and defeat them. Those who consider me unworthy shall prove it by meeting me in a duel. I would be happy to admit defeat if I lost."

"So you would," Grimfist agreed. "Remember Gyrus, you are a damned hero in my books. I know you, and I am sure you will not let yourself be daunted by others' opinions." He gestured to the doors. "Have a good rest. You have certainly earned it."

Gyrus stood, said his goodbyes and departed.

The doors swung closed behind him.

Farus turned to Grimfist.

"Well, Sanctus," he said, "Your plan is working perfectly."

"As I knew it would," Grimfist boasted. "Jarfur will prove himself on Ulis and we will retain his loyalty – and barring any unforeseen complications, the Inquisition will be placated when we turn the Casket of Tears over to them. You still have it, do you not?"

"It is in the care of Aurelius," Farus told him, "Chaplain of the Second Company. You expressed discomfort with having it aboard the _Glory of Russala_ , so I took the liberty of relocating it."

"And you trust this Chaplain?" Grimfist asked. "I barely remember him."

"I trust him," Farus promised. "The Casket is safe."


	20. S3 E2: Bringer of Fury

Series III - Fastunhive

Episode II - Bringer of Fury

 _The White Knights will resume their attack on Fastunhive, and it will be led by Captain Jarfur and his Third Company. He has devised a plan of action that the Master sees as risky, and so Piraeus' Second Company squad will also be taking part in the assault. Apothecary Narre is to go as well. In the meantime, Gyrus has been given a reward for his good performance: a new inscription for his blade, the mighty Maelstrom._

Gyrus strode angrily into the Requisitions Room, his armour rigid and inflexible.

Stock Officer Hammond sat behind the desk.

Seeing him, Gyrus slowed himself and took a deep breath. His joints relaxed slowly. Now back aboard the _Weary_ and en route to Ulis once more, he'd paid a visit to the Apothecarium only to find it empty. Narre was nowhere to be seen.

"My lord," Hammond said, rising to his feet. "What can I do for you?"

"I am here to get a sword engraved," Gyrus explained.

"Ah yes," Hammond remembered. "Maelstrom. One of our finest blades."

Gyrus drew it and handed it over. The edge was as sharp as he could get it, glimmering and shining so brightly he could see his own reflection.

Hammond could barely lift it. It was as long as he was tall.

"And the inscription, sir?" he asked.

" _Bringer of fury_ ," Gyrus decided.

"Very good," Hammond nodded. "Strong."

"That was the intention," Gyrus told him. "How long will this take?"

"It should be ready for the attack on Fastunhive," Hammond said. "If not, I'm sure you'll find some way to reprimand me."

The remark was a little too joking for a Space Marine, Gyrus thought, but he remembered Chaplain Aurelius' advice about showing a little more kindness.

"Do not overwork yourself," he said.

"I see I find you in a fair mood, brother," came a voice from behind him.

Gyrus turned to find Narre standing there, wearing his armour. The Narthecium, the trademark medical implement attached to the right arm, was missing. It normally consisted of several tools, among which were a saw, a cutting blade and a spring-loaded piston known as a carnifex bolt. The bolt was designed to penetrate a Marine's skull and kill him instantly, and was used only in the most desperate of circumstances.

"It is good to see you again, brother," Gyrus said, as he shook Narre's hand.

"And you," Narre returned. "Congratulations on your performance during the White Council. I am told it was rather intense. Captain Harlus has been singing your praises to the entire ship for the past few hours, making you out as an example of how good the Spearheads can be."

"I'll get started on the inscription," Hammond said, gingerly. "Don't let me keep you."

Narre patted Gyrus on his adamantium shoulderpad.

"I think we had better visit the Apothecarium," he said. "You are due for an update. I need to check how your hardware is coping with the implant, as well as apply some new operating routines and see if your wounds are healing."

"When will you need me?" Gyrus asked Hammond.

"Give it until tomorrow, my lord," Hammond told him. "I estimate I'll be done by then."

Gyrus followed Narre back to the lift at the end of the corridor. The _Weary_ was laid out like most Imperial ships, with all the important facilities branching off from one of several interior shafts. They stood patiently in the lift while it climbed through the decks towards their destination, then crossed the reception chamber to the operating room.

"How have things been while I was away?" Gyrus said.

"Uneventful," Narre said. "I want to talk to you about our discussion before you left."

Gyrus raised a hand to silence him.

"Do not lose any sleep over it," he advised. "I understand."

"With all due respect, brother, you do not understand," Narre told him. "I was wrong to have doubted your integrity. You did what you had to do in Fastunhive, and I should have recognised that. Instead I was too concerned with the Lexicon. You have taught me a valuable lesson, Gyrus."

"It seems like everyone is apologising to me today," Gyrus remarked.

"Should you not you enjoy it while you can?" Narre said.

"Of course not," Gyrus snapped. "It is too fickle for my liking. Before the hearing, you told me I had broken two of the three tenets. Now you have blunted your edge because the Chapter Master came down on my side. You would not be defending me if I had been handed over to the Inquisitor."

"Gyrus," Narre said, in frustration, "I am just happy for you."

"Well why do you not keep your views to yourself?" Gyrus said.

There was a pause.

Narre tutted and retrieved a needle from a drawer. He filled it with a clear liquid.

"On the table, please," he said.

Gyrus removed his helmet, set it down on the sideboard and obediently lay down.

Narre found the right place in his neck and slid the needle in. He depressed the plunger.

"This is a local anaesthetic?" Gyrus said.

"It is there to dull the pain while I work," Narre explained. "You might experience some speech defects but I reached the artery bound for your right cheek. If I am correct, you will not feel anything more than a slight numbness."

"How long until it takes affect?" Gyrus said.

Narre shrugged.

"A few seconds," he said. "Maybe less."

Gyrus cleared his throat. He was trying to stave off the awkwardness after their conversation.

"So," he said, "Where were you earlier? I came by and this place was empty."

"I had an appointment with Captain Harlus in his rooms," Narre said. "It was about Ulis. I am going with you on the next drop." He sighed. "Will you deactivate your immunosuppressants? There is a risk they will flush the drugs from your system and I will have to start all over again."

Gyrus did as he asked with little more than a thought. Even with no helmet to give him a heads-up display, the Black Carapace coating his skin could still interface with his suit, allowing him to issue commands to it.

"You are coming down to Ulis, then?" he said.

"I am attached to Piraeus' squad," Narre said. "Captain Harlus wants someone he can trust on the ground along with them."

"I was under the impression that this was a routine operation," Gyrus admitted.

"Do not fool yourself," Narre said. "For some unknown reason, Master Grimfist has seen fit to give the command to Captain Jarfur. He is trying to prove himself, so we are using drop pods."

"Harlus expects casualties," Gyrus realised. "That is why you are coming along."

"That is the cynical view," Narre muttered. "And you know how I love playing the cynic."

Gyrus laughed. He was relieved to hear his friend joking again.

"Harlus is probably right," he said. "Pods on a hive? It will never work."

Drop pods were a brutal and ungainly weapon. The Adeptus Astartes' unique tactic of dropping in from space at a moment's notice could be extremely effective, especially when employed by the Spearheads, who made it their trademark. On a hive, however, the pods could simply slam through the stacked levels of buildings one after the other, leaving the landing force split up and disoriented.

Narre retrieved his Narthecium from a nearby table. He sparked a flame using one of its tools and played it gently over Gyrus' cheek.

"Can you feel that?" he asked.

"No," Gyrus said.

"Then I shall begin," Narre said. "Try not to move."

He swung the robotic arm down from the ceiling and tapped a few commands into the terminal mounted on its base.

The machinery whirred into life. It removed the plate from the hole in Gyrus' skin and cleaned it carefully, then refitted it and tightened the bolts as a precaution.

Narre examined the readouts on a data-slate and nodded slowly.

"Everything looks fine," he said. "Now for the scars on your chest."

"Should I take my armour off?" Gyrus said.

"I can do it for you," Narre told him. "But you will have to disable your firewalls."

The firewalls would automatically seal the suit's clamps in place if anyone other than the wearer tried to remove any of the plates. They were designed to prevent assailants from overcoming the user simply by removing his armour.

Gyrus disabled them with a thought.

"It is done," he said.

Narre reached around the side of his breastplate, where the catches had been undone, and removed the entire front half. He muttered a prayer under his breath as he did so. The armour was centuries old and deeply sacred. Handling it was an honour, even to a Marine. When removed, its plates were heavy and unwieldy.

"I will take these bandages off," he explained. "It may feel a little uncomfortable."

"That does not concern me," Gyrus said.

Narre peeled the bandages away, revealing a series of deep gashes in the spongy material of the Black Carapace. Crimson tissue was visible beneath them and a couple of drops of blood ran down Gyrus' front. Larraman cells quickly sealed the open wounds. Narre picked one of the gashes and pulled its sides apart.

By craning his neck Gyrus could see the dull, creamy surface of his own solid-fused ribcage. It did not hurt as such, though it did sting a little.

"These should be healed by now," Narre said.

"Is it some kind of xeno technology?" Gyrus wondered.

"I had that thought myself," Narre said. "Actually, there is something I should show you. Let me put some salve on these bandages and fix them in place."

He poured some of the gel onto his gauntlet and coated the dressings with it, then laid them down and pressed them to the area affected.

"Tell me it is not getting worse," Gyrus said.

Narre chuckled.

"Not that I can tell," he said. "Get up."

Gyrus sat upright.

Narre crossed the room to a locker against the far wall. He swung it open and took out one of the Tau rifles. It was almost five feet long, thin and fragile-looking. The rectangular barrel had conduits and lines running down it. They all met at a circular apparatus set into its side, by the head. There were two muzzles. The metal around each one was charred and blackened.

"This was not the exact weapon used to injure you," Narre said, "But I suppose they all run on the same basic systems. I took this one to Curatio Lonnar in the hope of understanding it."

"He is aboard?" Gyrus said, with a frown.

Curatio Lonnar was the Master of the Forge, the highest ranking Techmarine in the Chapter. Normally he kept the engines running on the _Glory of Russala_ , but now it seemed he had been reassigned to the _Last Hope of the Weary_.

"Harlus told me the Master had him transferred here ahead of the assault on Ulis," Narre said. "To keep an eye on Captain Jarfur, no doubt."

"Grimfist really does not trust him," Gyrus said.

Narre shook his head.

"Not an inch," he agreed. "In any case, Lonnar tried to explain how the Tau rifles function but I could not make head or tail of it. Take this one down to him and see if you can succeed where I failed. If I can get my head around the xeno tech, I may be able to find the missing link."

Gyrus frowned as he took the rifle from him.

"Brother," he said, uncomfortably, "This feels wrong. Using their technology, it is . . ."

"Verging on heretical, I know," Narre said. "But it is our only lead. And Curatio is the one making the final decision, not us."

Gyrus nodded uncertainly and made for the door. Before he left, a thought occurred to him. He glanced back at Narre.

"After the White Council," he said, "I was summoned to the Master's office. I watched him tell Jarfur he was expelled from the Apostles. Do you know what he meant by that?"

"I have no idea," Narre admitted. "You would have to ask him."

"I will come to it," Gyrus said. "I have business down on Ulis first."

"We both do," Narre said. "It has been too long since we tasted battle together."


	21. S3 E3: Master of the Forge

Series III - Fastunhive

Episode III - Master of the Forge

 _Gyrus may no longer be in danger from the Inquisition but he now faces a new problem. The wounds he sustained in the mansion on Ulis are refusing to heal, even despite his superhuman physiology. Apothecary Narre has given him a Tau weapon similar to the one used to inflict them and sent him down to visit Curatio Lonnar, the Master of the Forge._

The lift's shutters slid aside to reveal the _Last Hope of the Weary_ 's nerve centre. It was a giant, vaulted chamber down by the engine decks, with desks lining the walls and wires trailing down from the high ceiling. Serfs and servitors worked to keep the Warp drive balanced and the Gellar Field active.

Sitting on a throne in the centre was Curatio Lonnar, Master of the Forge. He was tall and wiry, surveying the room constantly from his vantage point. Though it looked as if he was simply watching his subordinates, the _Weary_ 's systems were connected to him through the terminals at the base of his skull. Razor-thin wires snaked from the corners of his green eyes. His face was thin, with a high forehead and prominent cheekbones. He had shocking white hair and wore flowing purple robes.

"My lord," Gyrus said, bowing before him. He still held the Tau rifle he'd been given. "Apothecary Narre recommended I visit you."

"Who are you?" Lonnar asked. His voice was sharp.

"I am brother Gyrus," Gyrus introduced himself. "Serving under Sergeant Piraeus."

Lonnar rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"I have no time for your parlour games," he said, coldly. "The internal politics of the Chapter mean nothing to me. Innocent, guilty, what's the difference? We all know the Inquisition wants nothing more than to string every last one of us up for heresy. And they would start with me."

Gyrus knew what he meant. Techmarines walked a fine line, being allies both of the Chapter and the Adeptus Mechanicus they represented. They worshipped the Emperor not as a single force but as a phase of their own deity, the Machine God. He had little knowledge of what their religion entailed. Any deeper level of understanding was flirting with heresy.

" _Toll the Great Bell once!_ " Lonnar suddenly cried, the connecting wires automatically falling away as he rose to his feet. " _Pull the lever forward to engage the piston and pump. Toll the Great Bell twice! With push of button fire the engine and spark turbine into life. Toll the Great Bell thrice! Sing praise to the God of all Machines_."

Gyrus said nothing.

The other workers in the room went about their business as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They paid Lonnar no mind.

"Are you familiar with those words, Astarte?" Lonnar said, sharply.

"No, my lord," Gyrus said.

"Of course not," Lonnar replied. "That is the Catechism of the Autoculus of Mars. It is truth incarnate, the language not of your empty religion but of the universe itself. But you've spent your entire existence hiding from truth, haven't you, so why embrace it now?"

"I was hoping you had heard of me," Gyrus said, refusing to rise to the bait.

"If I have, you can rest assured it is purely coincidence," Lonnar snapped. "I tend to disregard what little news filters down this far. My only concern is keeping this vessel spaceworthy, a task made harder by the constant interfering of Astartes like you. What reverence do you have for what I do? Every day I labour tirelessly, soothing this mighty ship's Machine Spirit, and do you ever notice me?"

"Do you want me to leave?" Gyrus said.

"No," Lonnar said. "The Spirit I tend is calm. But yours is far from it."

"I do not understand," Gyrus said.

Lonnar laughed aloud.

"How could you?" he remarked. "You know nothing of our ways. _You may say, it is impossible for a man to become like the Machine. And I would reply, that only the smallest mind strives to comprehend its limits_. That was Fabricator-General Kane."

"But I do not seek to become like the Machine," Gyrus told him.

"Then you deny yourself your destiny," Lonnar said.

Upon some unspoken command a death-mask swung down from the ceiling. It clamped into place over his face, covering his mouth with a grille and hiding his eyes behind bionic retina that glowed brightly through the gloom. When he spoke, his enhanced voice was hoarse and scratchy.

" _Everything organic we know of is simply machinery, in one form or the other_ ," he quoted. "So said Genetor Salakith. _Tendons replace pistons; flesh in the place of steel; blood is simply biological coolant. To deny this and shun it is more than just Mechanicus orthodoxy – it is idiocy_."

"Will you stop speaking in quotes, brother?" Gyrus requested, politely.

Lonnar's long robes flowed around him as he descended the steps from the throne.

"I am not your brother," he hissed.

Gyrus looked him up and down.

"Forgive me, but we seem alike," he said. "Do you not have the same enhancements as I do?"

"Our physical forms may bear some resemblance," Lonnar admitted. "But that is the end of it. I do not suffer from your delusions. I pursue truth – nothing more, nothing less. You pursue a broken ideology. Tell me, _Astarte_ . . . how far must you have fallen to worship a corpse?"

Gyrus stared at him. His words were openly heretical.

"How dare you," he said, quietly.

"This is the way it has always been," Lonnar explained. "Since the Great Crusade and long before. The Emperor Himself understood the conundrum. You hate us, and yet you need us." He nodded at Gyrus' armoured chest. "You more than most."

"My wounds will not heal," Gyrus explained.

"I know," Lonnar said. "I could sense it. Your Machine Spirit is disturbed. I need your armour."

"I would never give it to you," Gyrus said. "This armour is sacred to me."

"And to me," Lonnar told him. "Only for different reasons. What seems to you like circuitry and electronics is a living, breathing being. Recall the quote from Genetor Salakith. _Everything organic we know of . . ._ "

"My lord," Gyrus said, "This is not . . ."

"Recall the quote," Lonnar repeated, tersely.

Gyrus sighed.

" _Everything organic we know of is simply machinery, in one form or the other_ ," he recited.

"Good," Lonnar purred. "And vice versa, naturally. If you can imagine your physical body as another kind of machine, then you can imagine your armour as another kind of physical body. Tell me, when you aim with your bolt pistol in battle, what guides your shots?"

"The servo-motors," Gyrus said. "They nudge my hand."

"You call them motors," Lonnar said, breathlessly. "I call them muscles."

Gyrus was beginning to understand him now, but he didn't see how it was relevant.

"What does this have to do with my wounds refusing to heal?" he said, exasperatedly.

"It has everything to do with it," Lonnar said. "Follow me."

He led Gyrus though to an antechamber, with a low ceiling and a light that swung freely above their heads. There were no windows on the entire deck and the air was cold and dead, recycled thousands of times for maximum efficiency. Hung from the wall at the far end of the room was some kind of cradle, like a backpack with several robotic limbs hanging off it. Each one was a different tool, and Gyrus could see a plasma cutter and a pair of clamps, among other things.

Lonnar turned around, stepped backwards into it and brought it online.

Hooks came down over his shoulders, their molecule-thin tips slotting into ports in his chest. The arms flexed and coiled around him to taste the air.

Gyrus watched the process with unhidden fascination.

"Do they move independently of you?" he asked.

"They _are_ me," Lonnar said. "As I have already explained to you countless times, it is not a matter of integrating organic matter and machine. There is no difference between the two. There never has been. I move these arms as you move yours, and as your armour moves around you. The first step of embracing truth is discarding the harmful notions you have been taught."

Gyrus wasn't interested in the heretical truth he had to offer.

"Now," Lonnar went on, "Let's discuss you. Much as it pains me to say it, I do actually know who you are. From what I've heard, your combat record is exemplary. You saved thirty lives in Fastunhive. That was for better or worse, though the Master seems to have decided that breaking the rules is acceptable in certain circumstances. By rights you should hold a higher position . . . but you hold yourself back, Gyrus. Until you are promoted, you cannot forget your rank."

"What is that meant to mean?" Gyrus growled.

"It means you're nothing more than a Marine," Lonnar said, without missing a beat. "What power do you have over me, or anyone else for that matter? And yet you come in here and insist upon _talking_ , something you are quick to dismiss as useless when pressured."

"I am only trying to gain allies," Gyrus assured him.

"Maybe," he said, suspiciously. "But your constant changing of attitude lends an air of tactical diplomacy to your compliments. Is this just an attempt to win me over?"

Gyrus glanced at the plasma cutter lingering a foot from his chest. Its blades rotated curiously.

"Why do you not take me at face value?" he said, angrily. "I am a soldier first and foremost, and I will always place the needs of the Chapter above my own. I felt that Captain Jarfur's accusations were deeply flawed, as did the Master and the Chief Librarian, along with the other nine Company Captains. I do not honestly care whether you believe I went against the Lexicon. Apothecary Narre, perhaps my closest ally, is of that view, and it does not sway my opinion of him."

He held the rifle out.

"So with all due respect, my lord," he said, "Just tell me how this gun works so I can leave without any further argument."

There was a pause.

The arms moved forward, encircling Gyrus ominously.

"Where is your respect for authority?" Lonnar said.

"You clearly want me to keep my mouth shut and not ask invasive questions," Gyrus said, "So that is precisely what I am doing. Take it or leave it."

Lonnar tilted his head up a little and Gyrus could see his nostrils flaring through the slits in his death-mask. One of the claws brushed a lock of his hair aside absent-mindedly and he smiled, showing a row of perfectly polished teeth.

"I _am_ impressed," he said.

The two clamps extended over his shoulders. They took the gun from Gyrus and suspended it in the air between them.

"There is one thing better than being a soldier or a politician," Lonnar said. "Being both."

"That is very interesting," Gyrus said. "But what does it have to do with my wounds? Why will they not they close properly?"

Lonnar held a finger up.

"It has absolutely nothing to do with them," he replied. "Neither does this gun."

Gyrus took it back from him.

"You have a virus," he said.

"A disease?" Gyrus asked. "But my enhancements . . ."

"Gyrus, Gyrus," Lonnar tutted, disappointedly. "You're not _listening_ to me. Broaden your mind! Recall the quote!"

Fuming, Gyrus did as he was told.

" _Everything organic we know of is simply machinery, in one form or the other_ ," he said. "So are you saying it is mechanical?"

"There is no such thing as mechanical," Lonnar insisted. "But for your sake, I will stoop to using the term. You – or your suit, to make a distinction that does not exist – are afflicted with a program, buried deep within the layers and corrupting the Spirit. Normally your Black Carapace would have closed over the cuts on your chest and filled the surrounding area with stimulants. My guess would be that this unholy presence has somehow prevented that much."

"Can you do something to stop it?" Gyrus said, hopefully.

"I can try," Lonnar promised. "The Cult Mechanicus says little on this subject. I will consult my books and send a message to Mars asking for help." He laid a hand on Gyrus' shoulderpad. "This is of great concern to me. If the Tau are using some new weapon, we are all in danger."

Gyrus shrugged him off.

"Let me fight this battle alone," he demanded.

Lonnar shook his head despairingly.

"You truly are naïve," he said. "There is nothing you can do without me to support you. For now, give me your armour and I can run some tests. Its Machine Spirit is bound to be distressed by what has happened. At the very least, I may be able to calm it so you don't experience any difficulties on Ulis. Beyond that, I cannot say."

"Will it take long?" Gyrus said, impatiently.

"As long as is necessary," Lonnar replied. "We'd better start rightaway."

"Fine," Gyrus sighed, disabling his firewalls. "Do what you must."


	22. S3 E4: Voice of Terra

Series III - Fastunhive

Episode IV - Voice of Terra

 _Curatio Lonnar may have been acerbic and difficult, but his diagnosis left no room for interpretation: the Tau have somehow infected Gyrus' suit with some kind of alien program. It is disabling his vital protocols to stop his wounds from healing. He has done what he can to ensure it remains functional for the coming battle._

Aurora III was rising over Ulis, subjecting it to its daily dose of radiation. The _Last Hope of the Weary_ 's hangar was packed with deckhands carrying weapons and supplies for the assault. Her drop pod bays were open wide and the guns on her underside were aimed down at the surface in preparation. Outside, the _Glory of Russala_ hung in the void, along with the Inquisitor's vessel.

The lift doors opened. Gyrus and Curatio Lonnar stepped out. Waiting for them was the _Voice of Terra_ , the Stormraven that would carry Piraeus' squad into Fastunhive.

"So you served in the Deathwatch," Gyrus was saying. "For how long?"

"A standard term of five years," Lonnar replied. "We battled Orks, Tyranids, Eldar . . . yet everywhere we went, we were met by the Imperial Guard with hostility and cynicism. Why is it that they hold the Space Marines in greet esteem and yet are so quick to disrespect their most elite troops?"

"To be fair," Gyrus said, "They do have a reputation for destruction."

"Of the Emperor's foes, yes," Lonnar replied, coldly.

In the Watchman system, which the Chapter ruled, family was the most important arbiter of social status. To symbolise their rebirth, initiates to the White Knights had their surnames stripped from them. Completing a five-year term with the Deathwatch was the most common way of earning them back. Sanctus Grimfist and Curatio Lonnar had both done as much, as had some of the Chapter's other most senior members.

"I'd like to remain and debate this further," Lonnar said, "But you don't have time. I've intoned the rites of obedience for your suit; they should be enough to placate the Spirit within."

"Will I notice a difference?" Gyrus asked.

"No," Lonnar said. "I'll be aboard the _Glory of Russala_ with the Chapter Master for the duration of the mission, though, so don't hesitate to contact me if there are any issues."

Gyrus frowned.

"Grimfist is here in person?" he asked.

"He's overseeing the assault, Emperor knows why," Lonnar said. "The Inquisitor won't take this lightly. Not only are we moving all the Astartes she wants to see beyond her reach by deploying them to Ulis, we're denying her permission to come aboard our vessels. The Master had better have something clever planned, or I can't see how we'll persuade her of our loyalty."

"I am sure he has a plan," Gyrus said, confidently.

"Gyrus," Piraeus said, descending the Stormraven's ramp. He saw Lonnar and bowed. "Master of the Forge. I didn't expect to see you here."

"I've been servicing your Marine's armour," Lonnar explained. "Allow me to give him one final blessing, and he will be yours."

"Of course," Piraeus said.

Lonnar turned to Gyrus and laid a hand on his breastplate.

"This is the Ceremony of Commission," he said. "It is an ancient Mechanicus prayer intended to unite your soul with that of your armour. Only rarely is it applied to Astartes, considering how deeply they have been blinded to the truth."

"It is an honour to receive it," Gyrus said, humbly.

Lonnar closed his eyes.

" _This machine is discharged into your care_ ," he said, as the electromagnetic weave spliced into the pads of his fingers interacted with the suit and ran final diagnostics. " _Fight with this machine, and guard it from the shame of defeat. Serve this machine, as you would have it fight for you._ "

"I shall," Gyrus promised.

There was a moment of reverential silence.

"Knowledge and faith," Lonnar said, with a wry smile. That was a Chapter blessing, not a Mechanicus one. Reciting it was a tacit acknowledgement of their cooperation.

"Knowledge and faith," Gyrus replied.

Lonnar left him.

He followed Piraeus up the ramp and into the Stormraven.

Behind them, several flashes of light erupted from the _Glory of Russala_ and streaked down towards the planet below. There were ten in all, each one a drop pod carrying a squad of the Third Company. As they made their descent, the _Voice of Terra_ lifted off and slid into the darkness outside the hangar. Its engines burned brightly as it dipped its nose towards Ulis.

Inside the crew compartment, Narre indicated for Gyrus to sit beside him.

"Did the Master of the Forge have any answers?" he asked.

"A few," Gyrus said. "But he could not do much to help at such short notice. He said the Tau must have infected my suit with a program, something too advanced for your scans to detect."

"Let me guess," Narre said, dryly. "There was something about the Machine Spirit."

Gyrus had been turning his conversation with Lonnar over in his head. He didn't buy into the Cult Mechanicus' teachings, but there was some sense to them. It seemed obvious that machines and organics were parallels of each other. The one part that he couldn't accept was the divinity of the union. There was only one divine being, and that was the Emperor Himself.

Lucius came over to them.

"I did not know you two were so close," he remarked.

"It is none of your business," Narre said, reflexively.

"No, it is alright," Gyrus said. "Lucius and I have put our differences aside since he beat me in our duel. Is that not that right, Lucius?"

"Yes," Lucius agreed. "It is good to have you along with us, Apothecary."

"Thank you," Narre replied.

The Stormraven began to shake as it entered the atmosphere. A cone of bright flames formed around its nose. The lights in the crew compartment flickered and turned red, alerting them to the danger of depressurisation.

"Helmets on," Piraeus ordered.

His squad obeyed him.

Gyrus slid his down over his head. The usual readouts appeared, except this time a warning flashed in the top right corner of his vision. It showed a glyph he didn't recognise.

"Something is wrong," he said.

"What is it, brother?" Lucius asked, concernedly.

"I do not know," he said, and used his mind to open a radio channel. "Master Lonnar?"

" _Gyrus_ ," came the reply, distorted by the radiation surrounding them. " _I'm detecting some strange readings from your armour_."

"There is a glyph I have never seen before," Gyrus told him.

" _Let me synch the data with my cogitator and run some checks_ ," Lonnar said.

The shaking of the Stormraven intensified, to be joined by a rattling noise that seemed to come from all around them. Several of the Marines locked their armour. The re-entry procedure was normally rough, but less so.

"Have you got anything, my lord?" Gyrus said.

" _I'm not sure_ ," Lonnar sent back. " _There are some odd feeds coming from the Stormraven too. From what I can tell, it looks like a different Machine Spirit has taken control. I haven't seen anything like this before. Your suit's Spirit is trying to combat the Tau infection but it's using technology I didn't know existed. Have you installed upgrades recently?_ "

"None that have not been verified by Apothecary Narre," Gyrus said.

Narre nodded his agreement.

" _Some of this code is ancient_ ," Lonnar said, in fascination. " _Thousands of years old._ "

"Why is this happening now?" Gyrus said.

" _I have no idea_ ," Lonnar admitted. " _Hold on_."

Gyrus could hear him muttering to himself.

" _I don't like this_ ," he said. " _It's not right. I'm picking up a data stream originating from a site on the surface. The Tau are . . . no, that seems impossible_."

"Can you stop it?" Gyrus said.

" _I need more information_ ," Lonnar said. " _Talk to the pilots_."

"At once, my lord," Gyrus acknowledged. He climbed to his feet just as the crew compartment depressurised. The seals around his neck automatically clamped down to keep out the vacuum of space.

Piraeus stood as well.

"Gyrus?" he said. "Where are you going?"

"No time," Gyrus said, gruffly.

He opened the hatch to the cockpit and climbed the ladder. At the top was a cramped cabin. There were two hard-wired servitors running the guns and navigation systems, with a pair of pilots sitting before them and flying the gunship. At the front was a thin plastiglass window, giving a brilliant view of Ulis. Fastunhive was easily visible as a grey blur on the green carpet spread out below them. Plumes of smoke were rising from it where the Third Company's drop pods had found their marks.

"We have to turn back," Gyrus said.

"Sir?" one of the pilots said. "On whose orders?"

"Are you picking up an incoming data stream?" Gyrus demanded.

"Yes sir," the man said. "But it's just traffic. Listen."

He unplugged his headset. The cockpit filled with white noise.

Gyrus' enhanced Lyman's ears automatically filtered the sound out.

"The text is nonsense too," the pilot told him, speaking loudly to be heard.

"Bring it up," Gyrus ordered.

The pilot activated one of the displays. Countless characters scrolled past, so fast they were little more than a blur.

"It's nothing," the pilot said, with a glance at him. "It doesn't mean anything."

"That is because it is not written in Gothic," Gyrus muttered. "It is the Tau script. Reroute it through my suit."

There was a pause, then the message began flashing across his heads-up display, along with a new notification.

"Master Lonnar," Gyrus said. "It says it is translating."

" _I know_ ," Lonnar replied. " _The problem is that your Spirit isn't capable of reading their language, but I'm still getting a perfectly sensible output here. That doesn't seem possible_."

"We can worry about that later," Gyrus said. "What does it mean?"

" _They're override codes_ ," Lonnar realised. "Ex machina _, you have to stop the descent. The Tau are shutting down the gunship._ "

Gyrus laid a hand on the pilot's shoulder.

"Pull up," he ordered. "Now."

The man tugged on the joystick.

"It won't move," he said, panicking slightly. "I'll use the engines."

A siren blared into life.

"No response," his co-pilot said.

" _Gyrus_ ," Lonnar sent over the radio, " _You have seconds at most_."

"Override it," Gyrus commanded. "Rightaway."

"I'm trying, sir!" the pilot cried.

" _You're out of time_ ," Lonnar said. " _I . . ._ "

He was cut off.

The cockpit displays deactivated as all the Stormraven's systems shut down at once. In place of the engines' whine was an ominous silence and the rushing of the wind as the gunship entered a swirling freefall. It shot down through the cloud layer at hundreds of miles an hour. Fastunhive was rising up to meet them.

"Brace for emergency landing!" the pilot shouted.

Acting on instinct, Gyrus locked his armour, deactivating all but the emergency systems in a final attempt to purge the Tau program. The buildings below were suddenly right in front of him, and he closed his eyes.

The Stormraven slammed into the hive and passed straight through, floor after floor giving way under its immense weight. It shattered the levels like a bullet. Its wings were torn off. Pieces of the thick hull came free with each fresh impact and flamed blossomed from its engines.

Gyrus looked up just in time to see them burst through the bottom layer of habs and emerge into a huge, open cavern.

The crippled ship cleared the roof in a matter of moments, spiralling down towards the lake beneath the hive in a shower of glimmering debris. It hit the water's surface and sent up a giant geyser.

Gyrus' implanted Sus-An Membrane immediately kicked in. It was a fine layer of artificial cells coating the brain that allowed its host to enter a state of suspended animation as a reaction to extreme trauma. In a millisecond he was unconscious.

Water pressure buckled the Stormraven as its momentum drove it deeper into the murky lake. Adamantium sheets twisted. Rivets were pushed from their sockets. The wreck turned slowly as it sank until it finally came to rest almost half a kilometre down. A huge cloud of silt and sand rose from the lakebed and gradually settled around the crash site. A few final flickers of electricity danced around the shattered and broken craft, sparking off the warped shards of metal and sending deep waves of sound reverberating through the depths. It only took a few seconds for the generators to flood and the ship's Machine Spirit to die. One last feeble glow came from the engines before they were gone. Silence fell.


	23. S3 E5: Awakening

Series III - Fastunhive

Episode V - Awakening

 _Tragedy has struck the Knights, though not of a conventional kind._ _Through the use of some new weapon the Tau have successfully disabled the Stormraven carrying Sergeant Piraeus' squad, sending it crashing down into Fastunhive. Now the twisted wreckage lies at the bottom of the polluted lake beneath the hive, and any semblance of an advantage the Astartes might have held has been lost._

Distant voices echoed around Gyrus' helmet.

He opened his mouth, expecting water to gush in. Instead, he found only clean, fresh air. It took him a moment to realise that his blindness was due to his lenses, which had automatically darkened. A single thought shut the dampeners down and the scene before his eyes slowly came into focus. He was lying on the bed of the lake with a shoal of fish nervously picking at his armour. The splintered remains of the Stormraven protruded from the mud in front of him. Bubbles still rose from ruptured pipes and bolts of light flashed back and forth between loose wires.

One of the pilots was floating nearby. His mouth was wide open in a futile struggle to breathe.

" _. . . functions are offline_ ," crackled a voice in Gyrus' ear. " _It's a wonder he still lives_."

"Master Lonnar?" Gyrus said.

" _How much oxygen does he have?_ " asked a second voice.

" _Hours' worth_ ," Lonnar replied. " _He's in no immediate danger_."

Gyrus realised they couldn't hear him. He rebooted the radio systems.

"Sirs?" he said. "I am here."

" _Gyrus_ ," Grimfist sent. " _Thank the Emperor_."

"What happened?" Gyrus said.

" _We don't know_ ," Lonnar admitted. " _The Tau have found some way of disabling our equipment, though how they're doing it remains a mystery. Several of your squadmates are broadcasting no signals. They could be dead, or their suits may be damaged_."

" _Apothecary Narre is among them_ ," Grimfist said. " _Curatio tells me the two of you were close_."

"I will find him," Gyrus decided. "Dead or alive."

He slowly and clumsily picked himself up off the lakebed. The armour was far too heavy for him to swim properly. Instead he lumbered through the oozing mud towards the wreckage.

" _Gyrus, I am going to leave you to it_ ," Grimfist said. " _There is an attack to manage_."

"Of course, sir," Gyrus said. "Knowledge and faith."

" _We're trying to establish a timeline of events_ ," Lonnar said. " _The xeno translation programs are incredibly effective. I've never seen anything like them, and I worked on Mars_."

"Why was I able to read their language?" Gyrus said.

" _It's your suit_ ," Lonnar told him. " _I can't explain it all right now, but it's acting as though there's another Machine Spirit animating it – one I don't recognise_."

"So it has something to do with the Tau virus stopping my wounds from healing," Gyrus said.

" _That would be my guess_ ," Lonnar said. " _It's too early to be sure, though_."

The crew compartment of the Stormraven was lying at the base of the lake, with its ramp missing and several large tears through its walls. The cockpit was gone, torn off during the fall to land near where Gyrus had woken up. One of the rips in the hull was large enough for him to make it through, but it was blocked by a girder. He moved into position and pushed it out of the way. What normally would have been a simple task was suddenly extremely difficult.

"Damn it," he muttered, in frustration.

" _For some reason, only your life support systems are working_ ," Lonnar explained. " _The Tau virus is corrupting the Spirit in the armour._ "

"I think I understand you," Gyrus said, as he reached down to his belt and drew Maelstrom. "The Spirit animating my suit is not one you recognise, and the Tau program is attacking it."

" _Yes_ ," Lonnar said. " _No wonder, considering it seems to be capable of translating their language. The question is why and how_."

The blade vibrated in Gyrus' gauntlet as it struggled to project its field underwater. He swung it down as fast as he could and it cut through the girder easily. The two halves wobbled and fell away, throwing a wall of silt in front of his face. He waded through it and found Narre on the floor of the crew compartment. The Apothecary was not moving, but his armour seemed undamaged.

"Brother," Gyrus sent over the radio. "Do you hear me?"

Narre jolted awake.

"My Sus-An Membrane," he said. "It must have knocked me unconscious."

"Mine did too," Gyrus said, helping him to his feet. "We are at the bottom of the lake."

"So I can see," Narre said, as he looked around.

"Let us find our way to the shore," Gyrus suggested.

They climbed out of the crew compartment and set off through the sucking mud and silt, weaving between tapering kelp climbers. Ahead of them the lakebed climbed towards the surface. Rays of light filtered down to them.

" _I've run some tests_ ," Lonnar said to Gyrus. " _The Spirit is running an extremely advanced translation algorithm and it's draining all your power. It's also decrypting Tau communications_."

"How is that possible?" Gyrus said, patching Narre onto the call. "Our suits cannot do that."

" _That isn't even the half of it_ ," Lonnar replied. " _You won't believe this, but the new Spirit's signature is on our records. It's Imperial origin. There are reports of it being used in the past_."

"Surely that means it is not anything to be concerned about," Gyrus said.

" _The distant past_ ," Lonnar clarified. " _Ten thousand years ago_."

Gyrus did not reply. He didn't know what to say to such a huge revelation.

A notification flashed up on his visor.

"Master Lonnar," he said, "It is initialising another interface."

" _This can't be right_ ," Lonnar muttered.

A multitude of menus and readouts appeared on Gyrus' heads up display, showing him more information than he had ever seen before. Among them were icons and glyphs he couldn't read.

"What in the Emperor's name is going on?" he demanded. "Master Lonnar?"

" _I have it now_ ," Lonnar said. " _Though it's hard to believe. This is an earlier version of the Spirit. My scans are identifying it as Crusade-era. It contains programs I didn't know existed . . . translators, interpreters and compilers all aimed at assimilating xeno technology_."

" _Brother_ ," Narre said, with a glance at Gyrus, " _This is heresy_."

"It is Imperial," Gyrus pointed out. "Else the suit would reject it."

" _A Spirit from ten millennia ago_ ," Lonnar whispered, in awe. " _Written by the ancient Adeptus Mechanicus to further mankind's cause through peaceful relations with xenos. I can't believe it_."

"But why now?" Gyrus asked. "What activated it?"

" _It's always been there_ ," Lonnar said. " _But the Tau virus awoke it. When they infected you during your previous mission, their program was designed to shut your suit down. What they hadn't anticipated was that you already had emergency defences designed to combat such an attack – defences unused and unneeded since the Great Crusade_."

Gyrus and Narre climbed the rock-strewn incline towards the shore and burst through the water's surface into the open air. The underside of Fastunhive stretched away in all directions. Ferrocrete pylons a dozen metres thick held the city up. They were standing on an island in the middle of the lake, beneath a hole in the hive's bottom level. Sparks rained down from severed pipes and conduits, fizzling when they met the water. Pieces of metal and reinforced plating from the _Voice of Terra_ were bobbing about beneath the hole, marking the spot where the Stormraven had come down.

Sergeant Piraeus and a few Marines were waiting for them.

Lucius was among them.

"Well met, brothers," he greeted them. "I see you made it in one piece."

"More or less," Gyrus said. "I have a lot to explain once we reach safety."

Piraeus nodded.

"For now," he said, "Let us focus on reaching the shore."

The nearest beach was two hundred metres distant, hidden behind a haze of fog and pollutants from the hive's waste incinerators. Unwanted toxins and byproducts from the chemical reactions were pumped into the air through massive vents on the city's underside. Some of the gases escaped around the edges but most were trapped in place, leading to a perpetual mist and a stench of acid.

"We need to find a way up to the lowest level," Piraeus said. "There should be access points in the supports. That means we will need to swim to the nearest we can find."

A series of blue pulses flashed angrily over their heads like strips of light through the smoke. Two of them passed close by with humming noises, but none found their mark.

"Hostiles," Lucius said. "Marking targets."

He dropped to one knee and scanned the shoreline. Strobes were projected onto his display and he synched them with his fellows.

"Let them face the Emperor's judgement," Piraeus ordered.

Gyrus aimed down the sights of his pistol and fired. He hit one of the xenos in the chest but the vapour blocked his view of the kill. All he knew was that the corresponding strobe had disappeared.

Their shots were answered by more of the pulse fire, spitting from the enemy position and crackling towards them.

One of the bolts hit Narre's arm. He staggered backwards but quickly steadied himself.

The other Marines opened up with their own guns. A volley of rounds raked the enemy position. Distant explosions rang out as they found their mark, blowing several aliens apart. Flashes of light flickered outwards from each hit and threw the scene into stark contrast. The silhouettes of several Tau warriors could be seen standing in the shallows, aiming at them and firing one by one along the line.

"We are too exposed out here," Piraeus said. "I am calling for reinforcements. If not, we are going to have to swim for it." He opened a radio channel. "Third Captain Jarfur, this is Sergeant Piraeus of the Second Company. We have engaged xeno elements in the lake beneath the hive. Can you assist?"

" _So you are the Master's insurance policy_ ," Jarfur replied, his voice cold. " _Sent to ensure I do not stray from the path he has so generously picked out for me. As it happens, I am waging a firefight on the top level and the Third Company are scattered all over the city. I do not have the time or the men_."

"Sir," Piraeus said, "We are down five Astartes."

" _That is your problem_ ," Jarfur snapped. " _I am not responsible for your bad decisions_."

The call dropped.

Piraeus muttered a curse and glanced at the nearest pillar, ducking as a couple of plasma rounds whipped past him.

"Sergeant," Lucius said. "Did the Captain just cut us loose?"

"I do not know," Piraeus answered. "He is right, we are not technically under his command."

"That is not the reason and you know it," Gyrus said. "I will patch in to the high-level channel."

There was a pause as he adjusted the radio settings with his mind. His Lyman's ears filtered out the static until he found the correct frequency.

" _Piraeus_ ," Jarfur sent, " _My word was final. You cannot beg this of me_."

"This is not Sergeant Piraeus, sir," Gyrus said.

He heard Jarfur give a heavy sigh.

" _I see_ ," he replied. " _So you think you can convince me with wordplay, like you deluded the others during the White Council. Well you might be able to pull the wool over their eyes, but I am not so easily fooled. This discussion is over_."

"This is not the time for petty rivalries," Gyrus insisted. "There are Astartes down here with me whose lives you could be throwing away. Do it for them, not for me. It is about time you put their interests before your own."

" _I did not allow you to join the Second Company so you could insult me_ ," Jarfur said.

"You did not _allow_ anything," Gyrus retorted. "I am here on the Master's orders, not yours. And how do you think he will react when he finds out about this?"

Lucius' gun barked next to his ear. The squad were still firing, suppressing the aliens and keeping their position locked down. Piraeus was listening in on the call.

"Do you have the men?" Gyrus asked.

" _I have squads on every level_ ," Jarfur said. " _I am trying to pull some of them together so they can punch through to the Governor's Palace. Now, I may be able to . . ._ "

Without warning, he was cut off.

Gyrus smacked the side of his helmet, thinking it was a hardware error, but it did nothing. He raised his gauntlet to try again and Sergeant Piraeus caught it.

"Remain calm, brother," he advised. "The comms are down."

"Where?" Gyrus said.

"Everywhere," Narre told him. "Just feedback, across the whole board. This is bound to be another Tau weapon."

Piraeus nodded resignedly.

"That is it," he said. "It looks as if we are on our own."


	24. S3 E6: Shi'lo

Series III - Fastunhive

Episode VI - Shi'lo

 _Gyrus and his fellows are alive, but stuck beneath the hive under renewed assault from the Tau. The xenos are pressing their advantage after deploying their secret weapon. Thousands of feet above the lake, on the city's top level, Third Captain Jarfur and his squad are taking the fight to their foes. But in the Tau Commander, they are about to face their greatest challenge yet._

"What in the Emperor's name just happened?" Jarfur snarled.

He was crouched in the bottom floor of a chapel, on the grounds of the Governor's Palace, among shards of broken glass and fallen masonry. Aurora III had risen fully now and each hole in the roof had a pool of light beneath it.

Nicodemus, the Third Company Champion, slid into the room through a hole in the wall.

A fresh volley of shots from the Tau lines stitched in after him. Plasma splashed over the tiled floor. Their position overlooked the courtyard, giving them complete visibility.

Jarfur ducked out for a look. The main hall of the complex was ahead. The Tau had dug in and fortified the building, making it almost impossible for them to break through.

"Sir," Nicodemus said. "Our radios are not working."

"Get out there," Jarfur instructed. "And summon everyone to this location. We need to be in vocal range of each other at all times."

Nicodemus nodded, powered up his blade and hurried away.

Three more Marines took his place. They fired through cracks in the stone, each shot lifting a fine layer of dust from the floor. Fizzling puddles of plasma dotted the square. Smoke rose from each one as the volatile liquid reacted with the acidic compounds in the flagstones and filled the air with a pervasive smell. The toxins were automatically filtered out by the Astartes' helmets.

Jarfur slotted a new magazine into his bolt pistol and emptied it, cutting down a group of aliens that had been foolish enough to advance. Neither side was capable of gaining the upper hand.

Nicodemus soon returned with the rest of the squad. They checked their ammunition and reloaded where necessary.

Jarfur looked them over.

"We will never reach them like this," he said. "It will take a full-on charge. Nicodemus, give me something on how well they have covered their angles."

"Yes sir," Nicodemus acknowledged.

Like Apothecaries, Techmarines or Librarians, there was one Champion assigned to each of the Chapter's Companies. They served alongside its Captain and were considered combat experts. Often they were veterans of centuries of warfare, more skilled with a blade than any of their fellows. They wore helmets to distinguish themselves, the usual white but with a golden stripe splitting the visage and a beautiful plume of red across the top.

Nicodemus pushed the chapel's side door open and cautiously advanced.

There was an alley running alongside the building, separating it from the servants' quarters. The gate at the end stood open to allow access to the courtyard. He stepped through, swinging his pistol around before him and checking for targets. The area was laid out in a cross, with four paved paths meeting at a fountain in the centre. Each quarter had several trees planted in it, obscuring his view. Grass and withered plants crunched under his armoured feet, their brittle stems snapping with the tonne of weight pressing down on them. Leaves were falling from the upper branches where plasma had struck them. They smoked gently and smouldered into piles of ash when they met the ground.

Nicodemus glanced back over his shoulder, trying to find the chapel. He identified it by the Tau fire, which was reaching it across the courtyard. Large parts of the statue atop the fountain had been blown away and it was leaning precariously on a splintered alabaster leg.

It did not take long for the xenos to notice him. A few shots flickered past. One of them hit a bench and wooden splinters exploded outwards from the impact.

He covered his helmet with a hand then hefted his pistol. A well-placed series of .75 calibre rounds roared from its barrel, their destinations carefully calculated for maximum damage. The shutters over the cloister windows were obliterated by the shells and the Tau volleys diminished noticeably. He took his opportunity while it lasted, signalling to his comrades that the aliens could not withstand their massed forces.

"Brothers!" he bellowed, magnifying his voice with the speakers in his armour. "With me!"

"For the Emperor!" Jarfur cried.

He slid out over a broken piece of wall, power sword up and humming viciously.

The line reached Nicodemus in a matter of seconds. He turned and moved into position alongside his Company Captain.

They all pushed forward together, sending battle cries and bullets towards their enemies in equal measure. With each metre they gained the intensity of the plasma fire increased, until they were wading through a thicket of blue light.

Countless bolts splashed off Jarfur's armour. His shoulderpads were dripping with the stuff.

His men answered it with the chatter of Imperial guns. Sharp, splintered retorts broke the air and drowned out the high-pitched whine of the xeno weaponry. As they drew level with the fountain, however, the shooting stopped so quickly that it took them a moment to register it.

Nicodemus patted the chalice emblazoned on his breastplate.

"We have broken them, brothers," he said. "Their morale has failed."

"Stay vigilant, Astarte," Jarfur cautioned. "This is not over yet. It is not normal for the Tau to stop like this. It must be a part of their plan."

"Sir," one of the men warned, "Targets above us, coming in hot."

Jarfur looked up just in time.

A trio of XV8 Crisis Battlesuits slammed into the ground before them. They stood at almost twice the height of the Astartes. Their mechanised joints and pistons hissed as they slowly advanced.

"Swords out," Jarfur ordered. "We shall let them taste their death at the hands of the Emperor's chosen sons."

The squad obeyed him and the low drone of power fields echoed around the courtyard.

The optical sensors of the centremost suit swivelled and focussed on Jarfur. Its resolution zoom gave the Tau pilot inside a close-up of his helmet. A voice boomed out through hidden speakers, its tone smooth and measured. It spoke in impeccable Gothic.

"You have come here to die," it announced. "Turn back now."

"Do you think this intimidates me, xenos?" Jarfur asked. "I am not fated to perish at your hands. You are not worthy of taking my life."

"Those who see themselves as superior," it retorted, "Are the most satisfying to destroy. They hide the truth behind indoctrinated lies. The time of mankind is over, Space Marine. You can fall into the abyss fighting or you can accept your destiny."

"And who are you to challenge me?" Jarfur demanded.

"I am Shi'lo," it announced. "Follower of the Vior'la Sept. Defeating you will be easy."

A long blade slid from between the plates on its right arm, a metre and a half from base to tip. The alien pointed it at Jarfur's chest with a whir of motors.

"Let us fight," it said.

"So be it," Jarfur said, beckoning to the others. "For Terra!"

Shi'lo slashed at him with its sword, but he rolled underneath it and brought his own weapon, Teneo, up towards its armoured knee. It was met by some kind of shield and slid away.

The xenos closed the mech's left hand around him, lifting him into the air.

Nicodemus hacked at the arm, slicing through the armour.

Warning alarms blared in its cockpit and it relinquished its grip then turned to the Champion. At the same time the Tau warriors bust out from the hall. They charged the Marines with their knives drawn and at the ready.

Jarfur landed heavily. To his embarrassment, he had been caught off-guard. The alien soldiers were weak in combat but his squad was outnumbered five times over and the three Battlesuits posed a serious risk. Leaving Nicodemus to deal with Shi'lo, he sprinted towards the advancing lines. Teneo cut through the Tau ranks with ease. Blue blood sprayed from severed limbs and disembowelled enemies. Weapons came at him from all angles, grating off his armour and scratching lines in the white paint.

A couple of his fellows broke off from their battles and joined him in carving a gory path through the unholy aliens.

Jarfur gasped as a blade found its mark in the padding beneath his breastplate. It sank into his right side just above his pelvis. He had grown unused to pain and found it disconcerting. In a moment his Larraman cells rushed to seal the wound. The bars in his heads-up display climbed as his suit automatically fed him stimulants and anesthetisers. He snarled and punched his assailant in the face.

Its fragile skull was shattered by his gauntlet.

He tore the knife out. The metal was smooth and well-polished, covered in his blood. He threw it to the ground and stamped on it, refusing to believe one of the Tau had managed to injure him. Even as his body fought to limit the damage, a second knife slashed down his shoulder, ripping through the foam padding beneath the plating and slicing his skin.

The aliens were suddenly all over him. They jumped onto his back and used his backpack vents as handholds.

His fellow Marines tried to tear them off, but every one that fell was replaced by two more.

A short scream rang out and an Astarte landed a few feet away, his back broken and his helmet caved in by a mighty blow.

One of the Battlesuits strode through the carnage towards Jarfur. It picked up the man beside him and stabbed him in the chest. Blood poured onto the ground as he convulsed with agony. The xenos threw the corpse away and turned to Jarfur.

He switched Teneo onto the highest setting and made for it, sweeping footsoldiers aside as he went for its legs.

The mech was unbelievably agile. It rolled nimbly to one side and blocked his attack.

Their swords met with an ear-splitting clang and slid off each other in a shower of sparks.

Jarfur saw his opportunity and jumped. He landed on the suit's wrist and quickly climbed up to its shoulder. Its sensors rotated to find him but he grabbed the helmet-like attachment and ripped it out, effectively blinding the Tau inside. Swinging Teneo around so it was pointing directly downwards, he made a deep incision between the shoulders and jammed his feet inside it.

A couple of aliens scaled the mech's sides but the Marines below pulled them away.

Jarfur pushed his feet apart, taking the two halves of the Battlesuit with them.

It took a moment for the bolts to come loose but they were under immense pressure and screeched from their sockets with explosive force. The Battlesuit broke in two. Curved segments of armour plating rolled away over the grass and revealed the alien curled up at its core.

Jarfur snapped its puny neck. He held the body up in his left hand as a trophy.

All at once, his fingers went numb and something dropped to the pathway beside him. It was his own forearm, severed by Shi'lo's blade. He turned too late and felt a jolt beneath his ribcage. A sword burst from his breastplate, running him through. He grunted, dropped Teneo and felt his life fading. The whole world tilted and swung crazily around him as Shi'lo lifted him up.

The suit's cameras glared directly into his eyes.

"Do you see what you have wrought, human?" Shi'lo taunted him.

"I am no human," he coughed. "I am the Emperor's will made manifest!"

Myriad warning signs lit his visor. His armour was on the verge of an emergency shutdown. With each movement the sword cut deeper through his insides.

"You have led your men to their doom," Shi'lo told him, turning him round so he could see the devastation. The courtyard was littered with bodies and the blood of the fountain ran red.

Nicodemus lay in the middle of the battlefield, his chest torn open and his ribcage smashed.

Inside its suit, Shi'lo smiled.

"Where is your false Emperor now?" it asked. "This would be a good time to pray to him."

"I pray for _you_ ," Jarfur said, voice cracking. "Having to feel the burden of weakness. What must it be like to be so frail, so insignificant? How does it feel to know I could kill you a dozen times over if you did not hide yourself away from me? You have let scores of your own men die to preserve your life. I hope you are happy."

Shi'lo growled at him.

"Face your death!" it roared.

It swung the sword through the air with such force that Jarfur slid off it.

He flew across the courtyard towards the chapel. The wall did not stop him. Bricks and tiles rained down on him as he hit the floor and rolled over and over. He left a long trail of blood on the cobbles and came to rest in an unmoving heap at the far end.


	25. S3 E7: Inquisitor Orrick

Series III - Fastunhive

Episode VII - Inquisitor Orrick

 _Third Captain Jarfur, a centuries-old veteran and formidable commander of men, lies mortally wounded on Fastunhive's top level. His Company Champion and personal squad are all dead. But thanks to the communications blackout, news of this tragedy has not yet reached the ships in orbit. Finally confronted with the arrival of the Inquisitor, Chapter Master Sanctus Grimfist calls his closest allies to his side._

The shuttle descended smoothly through the forcefield and into the nave of the cathedral aboard the _Glory of Russala_. It was a blocky and cumbersome craft, capped with a blunted nose and flanked by thundering engine pods. The hull was embossed with the Inquisitorial crest, a red letter I with script around its edges, framed against scrolls and ancient scriptures. Three figures came down the ramp.

Escorting the Inquisitor were servitors, human serfs forged with machinery and electronics.

Between them was Josephine Orrick. She had a thin face and a long neck, framed by locks of curling brown hair all the way down to her waist. Her armour was fashioned from treated leather. It was covered in symbols and various icons were etched into its plates. On her stomach was the same crest as on the shuttle. A ceremonial sword hung at her belt.

"Inquisitor Orrick," Grimfist said.

He had come to meet her, accompanied by Farus and Curatio Lonnar.

She looked him up and down curiously.

"Sanctus Grimfist," she returned. "At long last."

"Yes," Grimfist agreed. "Now we are finally face to face, you have my apologies. I delayed this meeting far too long."

"You did," she said. "I had better get to work rightaway. There is a Marine in your Second Company named Gyrus. I intend to meet with him."

Grimfist shook his head.

"He is not here," he said.

"Where can I find him, then?" Orrick asked.

"On Ulis," Grimfist replied. "He is currently taking part in the assault on Fastunhive."

"Then call him back," she ordered. "Now."

"That would be difficult," Lonnar explained, stepping forward.

She turned to him and her face fell. The Inquisition resented all Space Marines and strove to hold them accountable for their actions, with moderate success. That was impossible for members of the Adeptus Mechanicus, whose heretical beliefs were nonetheless protected by ancient treaties. In the eyes of the Inquisition, Techmarines represented the worst of both institutions.

"And who are you?" Orrick said, coldly.

"Curatio Lonnar, Master of the Forge," he introduced himself, smugly. He knew he was beyond even her disciplinary powers. "I'm currently attached to the Second Company myself. I served five years with the Deathwatch and I am responsible for the running of this battle barge. More importantly, I was in regular contact with Gyrus before communications went down."

"And when was that?" she said.

"Not long ago," Lonnar told her.

"Fine," she said, beckoning to her servitors. "I'm going down to the surface. Farewell."

They retreated back into the shuttle.

None of the Marines spoke, just waited while it throttled up and climbed away into the void, leaving the smell of jet fuel and the dying downdraft of its engines.

"Well handled, Curatio," Grimfist said, gratefully.

"I'm the only one above reproach," Lonnar remarked. "She won't give you any trouble as long as I'm around, sir. For all my talk, my loyalties are firmly with the White Knights."

"We should not have let her leave," Farus said.

Grimfist looked at him.

"What else would we have done?" he said. "Detained her? That would make this mess worse."

"Not detained her, no," Farus said. "But letting her go down to Ulis shows our disregard for her life. Fastunhive is not yet secure. For all we know, the Tau might have even more weapons to deploy."

"Disregard for her life," Grimfist chuckled. "I do not care if she lives or dies. If she wants to get herself killed, she can go ahead. And now that she is out of the way – permanently, if we are lucky – we can discuss our options. With me, brothers."

He led them along the cathedral. Each of the giant pillars holding up the soaring, vaulted roof housed a lift shaft to give access to the battle barge's lower levels. The waiting serfs stepped aside, bowing and muttering prayers as they did so, and they took a lift to themselves.

Grimfist synched his armour with its systems and directed it downwards, through the fin that extended from the _Glory_ 's underside. At its very tip was the vessel's control room. He sighed.

"I hope you realise how much of a threat the Inquisitor poses," he said, to Farus. "Our recent discoveries could give her more ammunition to use against us."

"So they could," Farus said.

"I had that thought too," Lonnar said. "But although assimilating alien code can be construed as heresy, the technology _is_ Imperial. Surely she can't complain at that."

"She will find a way," Grimfist assured him, shaking his head. "I am certain of it."

The shutters slid apart and they emerged into the control room.

Second Captain Harlus was working at a terminal nearby. Grimfist had left him in charge of the attack while he went to greet Orrick. He was trying to bring communications back online. At a nod from the Chapter Master, he fell into the step with the group and followed them through to the adjoining chapel. The door locked behind them upon an unspoken order from Farus.

"As always, old friend," Grimfist said to him.

"Of course, Sanctus," he nodded.

The four of them closed their eyes.

Farus cast his mind into the Warp. His consciousness encircled them. It reached into Grimfist's shared memories and extracted a thought, a distant recollection of a place none of them had ever actually visited. The world dropped away to be replaced by another location altogether. They were standing in a grassy courtyard, at the centre of an old stone cloister. Rising into the azure blue sky nearby was an ornately decorated white marble tower with seams of gleaming glass windows climbing up its curving flanks. The cloisters' outer walls had more windows set into them and they gave a magnificent view of the dust storms obscuring the endless plains far below. The entire complex was built inside and atop a tapering mountain peak.

"It is always here," Harlus said, as he opened his eyes once more. "Why . . ."

"That is an extremely personal question, Captain," Grimfist interrupted him. "One I do not yet feel comfortable answering."

Harlus glanced at Farus.

The Librarian wore no helmet, but the hood and the pulsing conduits covering his forehead made it difficult to fully read his expression. He was concentrating intently on the projection. Their physical forms were still inside the chapel aboard the _Glory of Russala_ , but he had crafted the courtyard in the Warp and brought their minds to it. Not only was he keeping them there, he was protecting the psychic meeting from the powers of Chaos.

"One day, you will have to tell us where we are," Lonnar remarked.

"I hope that day never comes," Grimfist told him, forebodingly.

"But if you cannot tell us, who _can_ you tell?" Harlus asked.

Grimfist nodded.

"I understand," he admitted, and looked around at them in turn. "You are the Apostles – my closest allies, chosen personally to meet in secret and guide my decisions. Perhaps I will someday explain the reason for the existence of this institution, or the importance of this place. But to explain would be to relive a part of our Chapter's history that has long been forgotten."

"And for good reason," Farus muttered, his voice strained with effort.

"This is somewhere extremely significant from my past," Grimfist said. "From before I joined our glorious ranks. I find solace in this memory when times are dark. That will have to suffice."

Lonnar began to speak but Harlus cut across him.

"As you command, Master," he said, obediently.

"Good," Grimfist nodded. "Now, we turn to the situation on Ulis. What can you give us? What could be causing the communications blackout?"

"As far as I can tell, the _Glory of Russala_ 's own systems are functioning perfectly," Harlus told him. "The problem is on the ground. Curatio, does that help you?"

"No," Lonnar said, shaking his head. "If anything, it hinders me. It means I cannot simply repair something on the ship."

"So you will have to go to Fastunhive," Harlus realised.

"It is not safe," Farus said, still speaking quietly.

"It is for me," Lonnar assured him. "I've identified which of the Machine Spirit's protocols the Tau data streams were inhibiting. With that knowledge, it would be quick and easy to shield them behind additional layers of protection."

"The Apostles have lost one member recently," Harlus reminded him, a little sharply. "We cannot afford to lose another."

"Now is not the time for debate," Grimfist announced. "We need to be absolutely clear. With luck the Inquisitor will fall to the Tau in Fastunhive. Either way, Curatio will go down to the surface and locate Sergeant Piraeus' squad."

"I'll run some impact projections," Lonnar said, "And establish where the _Voice of Terra_ crash landed. We have to keep Gyrus away from Orrick. She'll kill him."

"And you would have a problem with that, brother?" Harlus asked.

"I'm not your brother," Lonnar instinctively snapped, then calmed himself. "I may share Third Captain Jarfur's opinion that Gyrus broke the law of the Lexicon, but I'm not stupid enough to believe he deserves to die for it. What manner of Marine would throw away his comrade's life in return for saving thirty men?"

"Jarfur will be dealt with," Grimfist said. "When he returns. Curatio, what do you think is actually causing the blackout? More importantly, can it be stopped?"

"There's no way to tell at this stage," Lonnar replied. "My guess would be remote generators at key locations around the hive. They may even be portable. They're probably trying to corrupt the Spirits of the Astartes' suits. Once I know where Sergeant Piraeus and the others are, I can enlist them to find a generator and then reverse the signal to bring the entire network down."

"We will be monitoring you from orbit," Grimfist said. "Knowledge and faith."

" _Ex machina_ ," Lonnar returned.

"Free them," Grimfist said, to Farus.

Farus released his grip on Harlus and Lonnar's minds. They melted away from existence as their consciousnesses returned to their physical bodies in the chapel. With only himself and Grimfist to support, his task became easier and he relaxed a little.

"Sanctus," he said, "This deception cannot . . ."

"Jarfur will prove himself," Grimfist insisted. "He will become loyal."

"That was not the deception I was referring to," Farus said. He walked over to Grimfist and laid a thick gauntlet on his armoured shoulder. "We have buried so much for so long. Sooner or later the truth will come out . . . and when it does, we both know it could change everything."

"It does not have to be that way," Grimfist said. "The past is the past. It is done."

"Not in the eyes of the Inquisition," Farus pointed out. "There is no transgression too small for them. They present an existential threat to our Chapter."

Grimfist did not reply. He gazed up at the soaring marble tower.

"Never mind the others," he said to himself. "I do not know how long I can sustain it myself. The Knights are more feared and respected now than ever before, and yet it is all built on lies."

"Only history can judge you," Farus said. "It may be fair."

"When is it ever?" Grimfist joked, with a dry chuckle. He cleared his throat. "I have been thinking about our conversation after the White Council. You said that you would spoken to Gyrus, that you had told him he would be Chapter Master someday."

"It is the clearest path I can see for him," Farus agreed. "The signs are there to be read."

"Then you know what we must do," Grimfist said.

Farus' already drawn face paled further.

"Surely you do not intend to tell him," he said, incredulously.

"He has every right to know," Grimfist replied, calmly. "Especially if all our darkest secrets will be laid bare before him in time. I would rather reveal the truth myself and suffer the consequences than have it destroy my legacy after I am gone."

Farus considered what he'd said for a few moments.

"You are right, as ever," he said. "It is wise."

"Can you show him?" Grimfist said. "If I allow you to access the memories?"

"I can place him in your past, as I place Harlus and Curatio during our meetings," Farus told him. "But I cannot filter the events he experiences. He will see everything we have hidden."

"So be it," Grimfist said. "Let him judge me. I have no regrets."


	26. S3 E8: Piraeus

Series III - Fastunhive

Episode VIII - Piraeus

 _Inquisitor Orrick has arrived, and she has decided to descend to Ulis to investigate the Chapter first-hand. Faced with her interfering, Sanctus Grimfist and his Apostles have devised a plan. Curatio Lonnar is to seek out Gyrus and protect him. But Gyrus needs protection from more than just the Inquisitor. The Tau are pressing their attack._

"Keep moving!" Piraeus cried.

Plasma fire splashed into the water around them as they waded through the shallows towards the beach. A line of Tau warriors was waiting for them. The xenos were relentless; human soldiers would have stopped after realising their weapons were useless, but these aliens carried on in the hope that sustained volleys would eventually penetrate the Marines' armour.

Gyrus' radio crackled.

" _Brother_ ," came Narre's voice.

"You are on the radio," he sent back. "How?"

" _I have diverted power through the short-range transmitters in our suits_ ," Narre explained. " _They are running on a separate circuit but I do not imagine it will take long for the Tau to shut them down._ "

"We should not talk unless it is urgent, then," Gyrus said.

" _Agreed_ ," Narre said. " _But I have to warn you of something. They are bringing up some kind of device. I can see it on my thermal sensors_."

Gyrus activated his own sensors and they highlighted a row of targets on the gravel beach. Behind them was a strange contraption, its appearance masked by a red heat-haze. It hovered just above the ground and a couple of aliens were working at a panel on its side. He frowned.

"What are they doing?" he said.

" _There is a data stream aiming at us_ ," Narre replied.

Gyrus realised what the machine was for. It was just like the weapon the Tau had used to shut down the Stormraven's systems during their descent. His face paled inside his helmet.

"It will deactivate our armour," he said. "We have to reach them."

There was no time to alert Piraeus, Lucius or the other Marines in the squad. They quickened their pace, leaving them behind.

Lucius pushed himself to catch up.

The xenos working the machine were hurrying to bring it online.

"Faster!" Gyrus shouted.

He felt solid ground beneath his boots at last and rose from the water with Maelstrom ready. The aliens retreated as he advanced but he had no intention of sparing them. His lenses marked targets and he fired with the bolt pistol in his left hand.

One of them fell instantly, its chest ripped out by the explosive rounds.

The one beside it dropped its rifle in surrender.

Gyrus blew its arm off and shot it in the stomach to kill it.

Narre was with him a moment later, drawing his chainsword from where it hung at his belt. Their Lyman's ears filtered out the rhythmic throbbing of the motor as countless blades whirred along the weapon's spine so fast they were little more than a blur.

The Tau's resolve seemed to strengthen. A few of them charged forward.

Narre met them in close combat, his chainsword chewing through flesh and spitting out fragments of bone and tissue.

Gyrus edged around the enemies instead. He picked his moment and darted in to slash viciously at the nearest alien. The body came down, its eyes wide with pain, and blood splashed over the beach.

" _Quickly, brother_ ," Narre cautioned. " _It is almost online_."

"I am going," Gyrus said.

He strode towards the machine.

The alien at the controls was frantic. It kept glancing at him to see how close he was.

He reached out to grab it just as a pulse grenade skittered over the stones and came to rest at his feet. Before he could react, the world turned white and he was lying on his back, staring up at Fastunhive's metal underside. Knee-joints whirring, he tried to stand and realised that his armour was a dead weight. The Tau had activated their device; with a tonne of thick adamantium on their shoulders, the Astartes were useless. Using all his strength, he managed to move his arm up and undo the clasps on his neck. The helmet itself proved too much for him.

An alien bent down and pulled it off.

"Don't move," it ordered, in clumsy Gothic.

Gyrus looked over to see Sergeant Piraeus still floundering in the water. A large group of xeno warriors dragged him onto dry land, then left him in the mud by the lake's edge.

Narre and Lucius were nowhere to be seen.

Another Tau approached. It stood over Gyrus and aimed its rifle directly at his face.

Gyrus was beginning to wonder if it planned to kill him when the thumb of his right gauntlet suddenly twitched. It was an unexpected but welcome movement. A moment later, the lenses of his detached helmet lit up. The words displayed on them were designed to be read from the inside, but he could just about decipher them: _connection with suit lost. Rebooting_. A bar was projected onto the plastiglass, showing the suit's power levels. He felt the motors in his arms stirring as it filled up. By moving his left hand he could just about reach Maelstrom's hilt.

One of Piraeus' squad was carried nearby and dropped heavily onto the ground.

He could only watch as a waiting alien calmly fitted a new magazine into its gun, powered it up and shot the Marine in the head.

Hot red blood pooled beneath the corpse.

A second Astarte was brought over and executed.

Gyrus roared with anger and took his chance. He rolled over towards Maelstrom.

The Tau were quick to react. They raised their rifles.

"Kill for the dead!" Gyrus cried, cutting two of them down as a couple of plasma bolts splashed harmlessly off his armour. Maelstrom sang, its power field whining with effort and yearning to taste battle. Its blade shone with gleaming silver.

A knife slid down Gyrus' shoulderpad. He disregarded it, shoved the alien away and crushed its windpipe with his free gauntlet. His bolt pistol lay nearby, behind a couple of hapless xenos. He lunged for it, knocking them out of his way, and came down on his back, firing short bursts into their ranks. There was a click as the magazine emptied and he rose, reaching for a spare.

Before he could reload, he was sent reeling off-balance by the force of jet engines. He twisted round to see where the noise was coming from and soon got his answer.

A mechanical hand descended over his head and closed around it, then lifted him off his feet and into the air. The joints around his shoulders cracked and grated against each other, unused to handling such stress. Commander Shi'lo swung him around so they were face to face, Gyrus' eyes level with the Battlesuit's optical sensors.

"Why is it," the Tau said, ponderously, "That all your friends have fallen, and yet you alone insist on fighting?"

"I would never stop," Gyrus spat. "Not so long as I have faith in the Emperor."

"But you are not immortal," it said. "What is the name of the Captain who landed in the Governor's Palace? I must know."

"Jarfur," Gyrus said.

"Interesting," Shi'lo replied. "He is dead."

Gyrus was given no time to digest the news as the Battlesuit dropped him to the ground once more. He tried to move, but an armoured boot landed on his chest and pinned him down.

" _Only the weak gloat_ ," he said, quoting the Lexicon. " _For it takes a truly strong mind to overcome the temptations of victory and remember that it is in success that we come closest to defeat._ "

"We too have an honour code," Shi'lo told him. "It is customary to learn the name of your enemy before you kill him. Sadly, I did not have the time with Jarfur. Our duel was over too quickly. To be honest, I would have preferred something a little more challenging."

"I do not need your name to send you to your death," Gyrus growled.

"I am Shi'lo," it told him, ignoring his threat. "You puzzle me, Space Marine. The virus we implanted in you on your last trip to this planet seems not to affect you as we intended. Can you tell me why that would be?"

"Do I look like a serf to you?" Gyrus snapped. "How should I know?"

"Ignorance of your own technology," it tutted. "Primitive."

It signalled to the aliens and barked an order in their language. The words were flowing and ran into each other. A few of the xenos arduously heaved Sergeant Piraeus into a standing position and brought him over, supporting his weight with some difficulty.

"Who is this?" Shi'lo inquired.

"Piraeus," Gyrus said. "He leads our squad."

Shi'lo said something else and Piraeus was let down nearby.

Gyrus could see his suit moving slightly as he strained to move.

"When you first came down to Ulis," Shi'lo explained, "You were exposed to a virus we had written. It buried itself in the deep, hidden layers of your suits. Every one of your fellows was infected with it. The generator here, one of several in the hive, releases the virus and lowers its interaction protocols. We have studied your kind and established that your armour interacts with your nervous system through something you call the Black Carapace. Our virus removes that ability, making it nothing more than a walking coffin."

"Try it," Gyrus said. "It will not work on me."

"But it _will_ ," it told him. "All we need to do is increase the voltage."

A bolt of pure pain shot down Gyrus' spine. His back arched with agony and he pushed desperately against the boot holding him down.

"You think this scares me?" he said, through gritted teeth. "I have faith!"

"The Carapace can be reconfigured to overload your brain," Shi'lo said. "This could kill you."

"I could snap your puny neck with my bare hands, coward!" Gyrus shouted. "I . . ."

He screamed involuntarily as every fibre of his body seemed to snap. His eyes were bloodshot, almost bursting from their sockets. Veins pulsed in his forehead.

Shi'lo ended the torture and turned its attention to Piraeus.

"Your leader shall serve as a fine example," it said.

Gyrus ignored him. He had seen his detached helmet, still lying on the beach. A new message was flashing across its lenses: _user input required for urgent system purge_.

The Battlesuit leaned down and picked Piraeus up in its left hand. From the plates on its right arm extended a long, thin blade.

"This is what happens to those who stand against the Tau Empire," Shi'lo said.

With one movement, it slipped the sword into the foam buffer around Piraeus' neck and slit his throat. He struggled futilely, choking on his own blood.

Shi'lo retracted the blade and reached into the wound. It ripped out his mechanised vocal cords in a shower of blood and threw them away.

Piraeus' head hung limp on his shoulders as the life drained from him.

Shi'lo dropped him into the lake.

"And now for you," it said. "Perhaps more slowly."

Gyrus barely heard it. Rage was bubbling up through his frame, carrying him beyond even his superhuman strength. He twisted away from beneath the boot and kept rolling. The helmet was in reach.

The Battlesuit turned.

Around him, the xenos raised their rifles.

His muscles strained and tensed, moving the adamantium plating with their own force of will. He grabbed the helmet and slid it down over his head. In a second he had bypassed the permission screens and activated the purge. His gauntlet closed around Maelstrom's grip as he rose to his feet.

" _Although my body may be broken and my worldly form is failing_ ," he recited, proudly, " _I am strong of mind, for I am the instrument of His will and the scourge of xenos and heresy_."

The Battlesuit's engines fired and it climbed into the air.

"You may have won today," Shi'lo said, "But this isn't over."

"You are pathetic," Gyrus retorted. "Face me like a true warrior."

"I have better things to do," Shi'lo told him. "The likes of you don't deserve my time."

The Tau on the beach were nothing to Gyrus.

He launched himself into them as the Battlesuit soared away, slicing through their ranks and cutting them down one by one. Every shot from their guns was too weak, every knife too blunt. His anger propelled him onwards. In only a few minutes there were none left to stand in his way. He stood, breathing heavily, his armour covered in blood.

" _Gyrus_ ," came Curatio Lonnar's voice. " _I am en route to your location in a Thunderhawk_."

He said nothing, just surveyed the battlefield.

" _Gyrus_ ," Lonnar sent again.

"Sergeant Piraeus is dead," he said. "And most of the squad along with him."

"Ex machina," Lonnar breathed. " _I'm so sorry_."

"Just tell me how to stop this from ever happening again," he said, sullenly.

" _Of course_ ," Lonnar said. " _The old Spirit in your suit is fully in control now. It has deleted their virus and completely assimilated their code. You can use it to turn their weapons against them, to deactivate every piece of Tau technology across the city_."

Aware that his every action from then on would be flirting with heresy, even embracing it outright, Gyrus synched with the generator. The program to control it came up on his display. It was shown in the Tau language but his suit soon translated it.

"I am doing it," he decided.

" _Wait just one minute_ ," Lonnar said. " _I need to be there to monitor the readings first-hand. The last thing we want is to overload the system_."

"No," Gyrus snarled. "They killed Piraeus. This is my revenge."

" _It cannot be wise to . . ._ " Lonnar began.

Gyrus ended the call. He issued an order to the generator, commanding it to disable the Tau systems in range and then shut itself down. The conduits on its sides started glowing as energy flowed through them. It roared into life and a high-pitched wailing noise filled the air. The wind picked up, blowing away from it in all directions. He had to lean forward to stay on his feet.

" _Brother!_ " came Lucius over the radio. " _You heard what Master Lonnar said. This is not wise!_ "

" _Lucius is right_ ," Narre agreed. " _This machinery was designed to neutralise hundreds of energy signatures, not thousands. What are you doing?_ "

"Winning this war," Gyrus said.

His lenses flashed white, blinding him, and the generator overloaded. He saw the ground rushing up towards him, then nothing.


	27. S3 E9: Narthecium

Series III - Fastunhive

Episode IX - Narthecium

 _Sergeant Piraeus is dead. Third Company Champion Nicodemus is dead. And yet in a moment, the tables have turned and victory is within the Knights' reach. At great cost, not to mention at risk of heretical behaviour, Gyrus has disabled the xenos' own communications systems. Now the Tau attack is broken and it falls on the Astartes to clean up the mess they have made. But Gyrus' decision to use the Tau technology against them will have unintended consequences for his oldest enemy, and for Sanctus Grimfist's political schemes._

Jarfur gasped, hungrily sucking air into his broken body, and opened his eyes. He was alive, though he had no idea how. His Sus-An Membrane had sensed the massive trauma inflicted by Shi'lo's blade and put him into a state of unconsciousness. Now the wounds in his front and back had healed themselves, though the internal damage was still serious. He was lying in a pool of blood on the floor of the chapel. Flames were washing through the building. Fragments of cloth and carpet floated through the air, settling on his armour. He tried to move his left arm and remembered that it was gone.

A series of plasma rounds came in through a hole in the wall. They flashed past and splashed off the scorched tiles covering the floor. Several more soon followed, smacking into the chapel's façade and scattering loose stone fragments with each impact. Cutting through the high-pitched whining of the Tau guns was the snapping of Imperial weapons.

He pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, just as part of the roof collapsed. As soon as he opened the door there was a rush of flame and air. He was lifted off his feet and thrown out into the alleyway. The servo-motors in his thighs moved of their own volition, dragging him upright and guiding him towards the courtyard.

Hovering over the lawn was a sleek, squat Tau dropship. The trees buckled and bent with the force of its engines. Ripples of compressed air shot over the baked grass below it. Its rear ramp was open and a group of aliens was retreating into it.

As Jarfur watched, a burst of shots rang out and a couple of the xenos fell to the ground. Someone was raking them with rounds; the characteristic dull thunk of an autocannon thundered from an unseen position on his right. Whoever it was worked with deadly efficiency, mowing the last of the Tau down and then switching their aim to the dropship. A neat line of dents was stitched up the starboard engine. It backfired, washing the grass with a cone of flame. The dropship wobbled and rose into the air. The firing continued until it was out of range, then silence fell.

Amidst the tinkling of spent cartridges and the rising smell of gunpowder, Jarfur picked his way over to the shooter.

Inquisitor Orrick emerged from one of the ruined buildings at the courtyard's edge. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and let the autocannon drop to the ground.

"Third Captain Jarfur," she said.

He weakly nodded back to her.

A pair of servitors followed her, surveying the scene and checking for survivors. They were half human, with large parts of their bodies given over to wiring and machinery. Their right arms had been replaced with heavy bolters and they both had shining bionic eyes.

"Can you help me?" Jarfur asked.

"There's an aid station aboard my shuttle," she explained. "Follow me."

He coughed up blood as he limped after her. His insides were on fire. The grille of his helmet spirited the blood away automatically.

She reached up to lay a hand on his shoulderpad as she led him along a passageway around the back of the palace hall. Their route took them away from the inferno that was rapidly consuming the complex. In a yard ahead was the shuttle she'd taken down from orbit.

"I'm very happy to see you," Orrick said. "I've wanted to meet you for a while."

They made their way up the ramp and into the crew compartment.

Orrick swung a stretcher down from the wall and helped Jarfur onto it. It groaned in protest under the immense weight of his armour.

"Try not to move," she advised.

From the cockpit came a girl of about eighteen, dressed in clean white robes.

"Who is she?" Jarfur demanded. The wounds in his front and back were still painful, and his every breath spread a burning feeling through his ribcage. Blood was dripping down his legs and staining the hammock.

"Chirurgeon Venneck," the girl introduced herself, politely. "I'll attend to you. Remain still."

She retrieved a trauma kit from a high shelf and produced a set of needles, then emptied them one by one into the buffer around Jarfur's neck.

"I'm going to put you out and then operate," she explained. "First we'll need to remove your suit and run some diagnostics. Can you unlock it?"

"This armour is sacred," Jarfur growled. "It can only be removed by anointed serfs."

"We are trying to heal you," Orrick said.

Jarfur brought up a readout on his display, showing his vital signs. He was in dire need of medical attention, but it could wait until he got some answers. With a grimace he sat up.

"Wait," he said, and looked at Orrick. "What do you care about me?"

"I'm an admirer of yours," she said. "You are a strong adherent to your Lexicon. That makes you a fine example to those in doubt of your Chapter's loyalty. Your morals and values are very similar to mine. It is a shame that so many of your fellows do not share your beliefs."

"You know nothing of the Knights," Jarfur snapped.

"Stay down," Venneck told him.

"I take no orders from you," Jarfur said, angrily. "I would rather die than hear my Chapter belittled in such a way."

"And that is what I appreciate," Orrick said. "You are extremely faithful."

Jarfur regarded her coldly. Her kind words meant little to him. He sighed.

"Very well," he said, unlocking his armour. "Treat me."

Venneck removed his helmet and slotted a couple of wires into the sockets in his neck. Data scrolled over a screen on the wall. She examined it thoroughly.

"Inquisitor," she said. "There are some anomalies here."

Orrick leaned over and started reading. She tutted to herself.

"Do you see this?" she asked Jarfur.

He craned his neck painfully and saw the code scrolling across the screen.

"What is it?" he said. "You promised to heal my wounds."

"There's a program running in your suit," Orrick said. "A translator, to be specific. Can you explain why you might be interacting with alien technology?"

Jarfur gasped.

"I . . ." he coughed. "I have no idea . . ."

"This is heresy, Captain," Orrick said. "Plain and simple. I thought better of you."

"I know nothing of this!" Jarfur insisted.

He tried to sit up, but Orrick tapped a command into a console on the wall and his armour shut off, weighing him down immediately.

At a nod from the Inquisitor, Venneck leaned down and took out a Narthecium. She slotted it over her wrist.

"Who might have done it, then?" Orrick said.

"This must be Farus' doing," Jarfur said. "Or Curatio Lonnar. They have been working against me for months now. My fellow Apostles have turned on me."

"Apostles?" Orrick prompted.

"Master Grimfist's ring of advisors," Jarfur said, trying to buy time and win favour. "They are his closest confidantes. I counted myself among them until I complained about Gyrus' promotion."

"Gyrus will be seen to in due time," Orrick assured him. "Until then, tell me more about these Apostles. I studied your Lexicon and I cannot remember any mention of them."

"Grimfist founded them himself," Jarfur said. "After he became Master, he made me Third Captain to keep me out of power and surrounded himself with his closest allies. It was only years later that he allowed me to join the Apostles as a peace offering."

"What happened to drive the two of you apart?" Orrick said.

Jarfur frowned. Even in the circumstances, that was too much.

"I cannot tell you that," he said.

She chuckled to herself.

"Captain," she said, disapprovingly. "I read the transcript of the White Council held after my arrival. You were on the verge of revealing the truth to the entire Chapter. Why hide it now?"

His face set. His mind was made up.

"Because the Master was right," he said. "If you read the transcript, you know what he told me during that meeting. My loyalties may not lie with him, or with the Apostles anymore, but they still lie with the White Knights. To share what I know would damage the reputation of the Chapter."

"More than it has been damaged already?" she said, pointedly.

"There must be a reason," Jarfur said. "You cannot simply execute me and ignore the facts. Obviously we are not attempting to co-opt Tau technology."

"Really?" she scoffed. "Because that's exactly what it looks like."

"I told you my story," Jarfur said. "There are plenty of Astartes who would like to see me dead. One of them must be behind this."

"Are you suggesting someone betrayed you?" Orrick said.

"Of course," he said. "I would never . . ." He stopped himself. "You do not believe me."

"I should have known there was something wrong with your Chapter," Orrick said, with a slow shake of her head. "Your leadership liberally interprets the crystal clear rules laid down by their glorious ancestors. Now they ally themselves with the Tau. I will see you excommunicated for this."

"If you can get me back to orbit," Jarfur said, "Everything can be made clear."

"In the words of the Emperor Himself," she replied, calmly, " _Heresy and chaos should be fought with all available strength. Only the smallest crack in the mind's armour is needed for temptation to find a way._ There can be no second chances when dealing with the future of mankind, Captain. I am extremely disappointed."

"Should I do it now, Inquisitor?" Venneck said.

Orrick nodded to her.

She raised the Narthecium.

Jarfur strained to move his armour.

"Wait," he said. "Maybe I can tell you more. Sanctus Grimfist is not what you think he is. He has built this Chapter on lies. Don't you want the truth?"

"You've given me enough," Orrick said. "I can extract the truth from him. Chirurgeon?"

There was nothing Jarfur could do. He smiled morbidly as he felt a slight pressure on his temple from the Narthecium's carnifex bolt. He smiled as his ears filled with the clicking of the springs and the whirring of the servos. And, when the bolt burst from its sheath at a hundred miles an hour and shattered his frontal lobe into a million pieces, his smile was frozen in place forever.

Orrick surveyed the corpse.

"Such a pity," she said, and turned to the servitors. "Take care of this mess."

They hauled Jarfur onto their mechanical shoulders and carried him down the ramp into the yard. He was left on his back, staring up at the sky through dead eyes.

Orrick came after them. She knelt and closed her eyes in prayer.

"Inquisitor," Venneck said, joining her. "Does something trouble you?"

"We did what had to be done," Orrick observed. "But still, the death of an Astarte is a sad affair, especially one who fell from so great a height."

"He served his purpose, my lady," Venneck pointed out. "And he gave us our next lead."

"Indeed he did," Orrick agreed, though she still seemed a little unsettled.

Venneck smiled.

"If I may," she ventured, "Recall the First Book of Indoctrinations."

Orrick glanced back at her.

"Thank you," she said, appreciatively. "As ever, you know precisely the quote for the occasion. I will make that my prayer."

"I'll make ready for the ascent to orbit," Venneck said.

Orrick waited until she was gone before beginning her recitation.

" _The weak will always be led by the strong_ ," she muttered under her breath. " _Where the strong see purpose and act, the weak follow; where the strong cry out against fate, the weak bow their heads and succumb. There are many who are weak; and many are their temptations. Despise the weak, for they shall flock to the call of the Daemon and the renegade. Pity them not and scorn their cries of innocence – it is better that one hundred innocently fall before the wrath of the Emperor than one kneels before the Daemon_."


	28. S4 E1: Aquilinus

Series IV - Revelations

Episode I - Aquilinus

 _Third Captain Jarfur lies dead at the hand of Inquisitor Orrick. Meanwhile, the Knights have finally taken the advantage in the battle for Fastunhive. With the Tau on the run and Gyrus unconscious, Chief Librarian Farus takes advantage of the lull in the fighting to share a history lesson. It is time for Gyrus to have the Chapter's dark past laid down before him, and the story begins in the ancient fortress known as the Aquilinary._

Gyrus was standing in an airy courtyard surrounded by a stone cloister, looking up at a tapering white tower and out across dusty wastes. He wore no armour, just a simple tunic, but he had no memory of ever removing his suit.

"Where am I?" he asked aloud.

A voice echoed through the courtyard.

"This is the Aquilinary," it said.

He whirled around, shackles up, to see Farus standing there. He was clad in a tunic too, but the psychic hood over his forehead was pulsing and glowing with energy.

"It is you, my lord," Gyrus sighed. "Thank the Emperor. I do not understand . . ."

"Or," Farus interrupted, "To give you a better answer, you are lying unconscious in the forward operating base we have set up in the remains of the Governor's Palace."

"In Fastunhive?" Gyrus said.

"Yes," Farus said. "Apothecary Narre is tending to your body's injuries while I tend to your mind. I have brought you here through the Warp. What you see is but a projection."

Gyrus nodded. It wasn't the first time Farus had shown him a vision.

"The Aquilinary," he said to himself. "I have not ever heard of it."

"Of course you have not," Farus said. "There are very few who have. All official records of its existence have been purged." He folded his arms. "And yet, it was from within these very walls that our empire was ruled for thousands of years. This palace was built by Primarch Guilliman himself, in the years after the Horus Heresy."

The White Knights were a founding Chapter of the Ultramarines Legion and they revered Roboute Guilliman almost as much as their fellow Astartes. For as long as anyone could remember, the two Chapters had been close friends and loyal allies. Their only substantive disagreement came over the use of holy texts; where the Ultramarines revered the Codex Imperialis, the Knights revered their own Lexicon.

"It is truly a place of wonder," Gyrus said, and he was not lying. "But why am I here? And why has this place been struck from the record books?"

"Answering those questions," Farus said, "Is the purpose for which I summoned you."

He gestured for Gyrus to follow him and led him across the courtyard, into the cool shade of the cloisters proper. Vaulted ceilings stretched away above them, decorated with intricate patterns of tiles and depictions of Imperial victories throughout the ages. Birds flitted back and forth between the columns. A peal of bells rang out from somewhere far below them, in the complex of buildings on the plateau beneath the highest peak. Round the corner was the entrance to the adjoining tower, a tall, arched doorway flanked by fluted columns and with a carving of a spread-eagled Aquila above it.

A young boy of about ten years sat on a marble bench beside the doorway. He had a musty old history book in his hands but he was not reading from it. Instead he was whistling aloud to himself, a merry tune of his own composition.

"Who does he not notice us?" Gyrus said.

"I told you _where_ we are," Farus replied, enigmatically. "I did not tell you _when_."

Gyrus' eyes widened. Time travel was impossible, even using the energies of the Warp, but recreating memories was within the reach of the finest psykers.

"We are not really here," he realised.

"No," Farus said. "We are merely observing events. We cannot interact. Watch."

A servitor trundled through the doorway, rolling along on wide caterpillar tracks that took the place of its legs. Balanced on its hand was a silver tray with a glass upon it. It passed straight through Farus and stopped in front of the boy.

"Master Aquilinus," it said, in an artificial voice. "Your beverage."

The boy put the prayer book down and took the glass from the tray. He sipped it.

"Thank you, Gamma," he said. "And where is my father?"

"Still preparing for the arrival of your esteemed guests, sir," Gamma told him. "They are due any moment now. I am sure he will come to find you before greeting them."

"Fine," the boy said. "You can go."

Gamma nodded and rolled away, sliding through Farus once more.

The boy went back to his book.

"You intended to demonstrate how we are not physically present," Gyrus said, to Farus. "And to do so, you would need to know where that servitor would be and when. You have been here before."

"Astutely observed," Farus praised him. "Indeed I have. I come here when I find myself frustrated or disillusioned. It helps to explain our current situation."

Gyrus knew there was no point in asking more questions. He would find out for himself soon enough. After a moment, footsteps echoed through the cloister.

This time it was a human who stepped through from the tower, a handsome, muscular man in long, flowing robes with dozens of pendants clinking around his neck. He had a full head of wavy brown hair and kind, twinkling eyes.

"Father," the boy said, shutting the book.

"Don't stop on my account," the man told him. "No son of mine will reach adulthood without learning those tales."

"That is Consus," Farus explained, nodding to the man. "One of the Governors of Russala and current head of House Aquilinus, most venerable and ancient of the Six Houses."

"Six?" Gyrus said. "There are five."

"As I said," Farus said, "The records were purged. This is all forgotten."

"But if we are in the past," Gyrus pointed out, "And this is a memory, then surely someone who was here must still survive, else you would have no-one to draw from in reconstructing these events."

"There is little point hiding anything from you," Farus said, wryly. "Keep watching, brother. You will see."

Gyrus turned back to the scene playing out before them.

"Now," Consus was saying, "Where were you?"

The boy flicked through the pages until he found his place.

"Quotes from the Emperor concerning Horus," he said, quietly. "From during the Heresy."

"Go on, then," Consus prompted him. "I'm listening."

" _I cannot claim to understand this evil that besets my beloved Imperium_ ," the boy recited. " _It seems insi . . . insid . . ._ "

"Insidious," Consus said, with a warm smile. "Here, let me."

The boy handed the book to him.

" _It seems insidious to the point of being unavoidable_ ," he read, " _And I wonder whether even I have been tempted by it at some time or another. Chaos appears to work in ways not yet fully understood by any mortal man, myself included. All I know is that it is the enemy of order, and all that is good in this world, and you – my most beloved son – have brought it to your father's feet. Shame on you._ "

He shut the book.

"He seemed very angry," the boy said.

"And he had every right to be," Consus said. "It is a fine quote, and I believe it illustrates rather well the situation in which we find ourselves." He lowered his voice. "The importance of the meeting I am about to hold cannot be overstated. It will define the future of our House. That is why I am trusting you to be there and to represent us in a mature way."

"I promise I will, father," the boy said.

Consus patted him on the shoulder.

"I know you will," he said. "Now, let us go."

"And let us follow," Farus beckoned.

The two of them followed Consus and his son through the doorway, into the tower itself. They found themselves in a tall chamber with an ornately decorated ceiling far above their heads. Grand staircases climbed up the walls. On their right was an archway that looked out onto a balcony and an adjoining landing pad. A few servitors were waiting outside, wearing the colours of House Aquilinus.

"As you were ordered," Consus said, addressing them. "Remember what we discussed."

"Yes, lord," they chorused.

From above them came the thundering of engines. An Imperial shuttle swept smoothly down from the clear skies.

Gyrus immediately recognised its heraldry. The chalice symbol on its flank was unmistakeable. It belonged to the White Knights.

"How long ago was this?" he asked, a little suspiciously.

"Before you joined the Chapter," Farus said. "Long before."

Landing gear dropped from the shuttle's underside and it came down on the landing pad with the hiss of heavy hydraulics.

Down the ramp came a living god.

Gyrus' heartbeats quickened at the sight. He'd seen that sculpted, immaculate face hundreds of times before: in pict-captures, video recordings, tapestries and illuminated panels in the Lexicon. It was the face of Dominicus Nero, Chapter Master of the White Knights and a legendary figure throughout the Imperium. A direct descendent of Primarch Guilliman himself, not through genetics but through birth, he stood as a giant among Marines, almost nine feet from head to toe. He wore an ancient set of power armour that had once belonged to the Primarch. It was white as ever but gilded with swirling inlays of bronze and gold, each one dotted with sparkling jewels. A long red cape flowed from his shoulders, edged with white and capped with shining tassels. His shoulderpads were made in the shape of screaming eagle's heads and the chalice emblazoned on his breastplate shone with blinding light.

"My lord," Consus said, bowing low.

Gyrus did the same. Nero could not see him, but it was an unspeakable honour nonetheless.

"Knowledge and faith," Nero returned. He loomed over Consus, one and a half times his height.

Consus stepped aside, allowing the boy to move forward.

"This is my son," he explained.

"Ah, Master Aquilinus," Nero greeted him, with a fatherly smile. "Well met."

"Well met," the boy said.

Nero gave a deep chuckle.

"You will make a fine Astarte one day, I am sure," he said. "Your esteemed family has kindly submitted hundreds of candidates for our consideration."

"It is our privilege, sir," Consus told him.

"You are too kind," Nero said, and turned back to the boy. "Perhaps you will prove the greatest of them all. Who knows what the future might hold?"

He nodded over his shoulder at the Marines who accompanied him.

"Let me present my guard," he said. "This is First Captain Kandras, Regent of Russala."

"Greetings," Kandras said.

Gyrus examined him. He knew he was looking at the man who would succeed Nero as Chapter Master, and who would in turn be succeeded by Grimfist after a short and difficult term of service. He was so taken by the sight that he almost didn't notice the second Astarte introduce himself.

"And I am Farus," he said. "Librarian attached to the First Company."

Gyrus looked up sharply. He'd realised that the man was a Librarian by the psychic hood, but it obscured much of the wearer's face and he hadn't recognised him properly. It was clearly Farus. His youth was obvious in the shape of his face, which was fuller and wider than the one he knew. As he watched, the two incarnations of Farus nodded to each other.

"You can communicate?" he asked, while the group talked amongst themselves.

"I sensed my own mind observing me," the elder Farus explained. "But I did not wish to disrupt the meeting. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Why would my future self return to this time and place to observe proceedings? It had to have some significance."

"But what?" Gyrus said.

"You are about to find out," Farus told him.

Consus stepped back towards the tower.

"This is truly momentous," he said. "Let me give you the welcome you deserve."

Suddenly the servitors were drawing weapons from beneath their robes. They were up and ready in a moment and gunfire echoed through the air. A hail of bullets was sent towards the Marines, sparking off their suits and sending them stumbling backwards before they could find any cover. One of the servitors aimed for the shuttle. It sent a volley into one of the engines, disabling it in a shower of electrical sparks. The firing continued until the guns' magazines were dry.

Nero straightened up.

"Consus," he said. "Tell me it is not so."

Consus began to laugh. It was a deep, booming laugh that seemed to come from all around them. Dark clouds formed in the sky above them, blotting out the sun and casting a shadow over the Aquilinary. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled.

"What is happening?" Gyrus said, raising his voice.

Farus did not answer him. He was still watching.

A shimmering portal appeared above them. Bolts of energy jumped down to the building from it. Windows shattered and stonework cracked. Slabs of marble broke loose to begin their long fall down the mountainside. The beautiful tower was reduced to a broken ruin in a matter of seconds.

"Consus," Nero shouted over the noise. "Why are you doing this?"

"I have seen the truth!" Consus cried. "The only real truth there is! We cannot fight the Dark Gods. It would be foolish to try. And in return for that, they will reward us with true power."

Kandras' bolt pistol barked. He quickly dispatched the servitors before switching his aim to Consus, but his shots were blocked by a field of malicious energy.

Tendrils of darkness reached down from the portal to ensnare the Marines.

"Farus," Nero ordered. "End this vain madness."

"Yes, my lord," the younger Farus acknowledged.

He closed his eyes. A blistering lance of golden light shot from his forehead and directly into the portal. It groaned and shuddered, collapsing in on itself. The wind picked up as it began to suck in everything within its grasp.

Consus found himself being pulled into the air. He groped wildly for something to hold on to. Finally he closed his arms around one of the gargoyles that protruded from the tower's curving side.

Kandras aimed at him with his pistol.

"Since you admire the Chaos Gods so deeply," Nero said. "You can have the pleasure of joining them in their domain. Captain?"

Kandras fired the pistol.

The gargoyle exploded into stone fragments and Consus was whipped away, into the portal.

The boy had risen into the air too, though he was clinging to a line of cornicing by his fingertips.

With a percussive boom the portal snapped closed. Slowly but surely the clouds faded and the sky returned to normal.

Farus' younger incarnation reached out with his mind and gently lowered the boy to the landing pad along with them.

"Thank you," he stuttered, uncertainly. "You saved me."

Nero knelt before him and looked at him sternly.

"I will only ask you this once," he said. " _Did you know?_ "

The boy shook his head.

"I want to hear you say it," Nero told him.

"No," he said. There were tears running down his cheeks. "What did you do to my father?"

"He is gone now," Nero explained. "And he will not be coming back."

"This is the end of House Aquilinus," Kandras observed. "The Inquisition will waste little time. They will want to tie up loose ends." He pointed to the boy. "He will be their first target."

"Russala is our world," Nero said. "And justice is ours to mete out as we see fit. Child, your father was a bad man . . . but you do not have to follow him. We can give you a new start. Something good must come out of what has happened here."

"We can bury it all," the young Farus advised. "Purge it, so no-one will ever know."

"I will consider it," Nero promised, and turned back to the boy. "You will need a new identity. Aquilinus will not do anymore. And what is your first name?"

"Sanctus," the boy said, firmly. "My name is Sanctus."


	29. S4 E2: Underhive

Series IV - Revelations

Episode II - Underhive

 _As a psychic projection amongst the memories of his Chapter Master, Gyrus has seen firsthand the betrayal of Consus Aquilinus. He has laid his eyes on the legendary Dominicus Nero, as well as a younger incarnation of Chief Librarian Farus and First Captain Kandras, who would later serve as Chapter Master himself. Now the story of the Knights' as Nero ties up loose ends following the incident at the Aquilinary._

A gigantic canyon, thousands of feet deep and hundreds across, snaked its way through Russala's dusty wastes. It was sheltered from the howling winds of the planet's northern continent and hidden from the sunlight of Watchman by a roof of swirling sandstorms. Hydroelectric dams blocked the raging river at its base. Thousands of feet above them, the spires of Storenhive climbed into the atmosphere, rising through the clouds to scrape at the heavens. Lights shimmered and twinkled in their flanks. In the glow of these lights, silhouetted against the wall of the canyon, moved a dark shape. It was a Chapter shuttle, its engines roaring and powering it upwards on a long climb into the storms above. And then it was gone, lost among the writhing currents of sand.

Storenhive had become the capital city of the planet, and by extension the Knights' empire, after the destruction of the Aquilinary. That event had gone unnoticed by the vast majority of Russala's inhabitants. They toiled away as usual in their hab-blocks and manufactorums. Only on Storenhive's grand upper spires, where the higher levels of society resided, did the news have any meaning. There were hushed whispers between the families, rumours of an elaborate cover-up. Something terrible had happened, they said. And it was just the beginning.

First Captain Kandras of the White Knights sat opposite his Chapter Master in the shuttle's crew compartment, cleaning his power sword with a cloth. The craft rattled and shook as it climbed through the dust storms. Sand clogged its whining engines.

"My lord," he said, reverently, "I appreciate your decision to include me in this operation."

Nero nodded kindly.

"Of course," he said. "There was no doubt in my mind. We were there when this story started. Now we will be there when it ends."

"You have always had a strong sense of place, sir," Kandras observed.

"The significance of our deeds is self-evident," Nero remarked. "Is that not right, Sanctus?"

Sitting alongside him was Sanctus Grimfist, a young boy of only thirteen. Since the erasure of his noble House, he had adopted a new identity as a member of an Underhive gang: the Grimfists. They had bestowed the surname upon him. On Nero's orders, he had been acting as an informant in their campaign against the Chaos forces at work in Storenhive, the same forces that had corrupted his father.

"Yes, my lord," he nodded obediently. "I've tracked the artefact to the Grimfists as you ordered. They remain unaware of its power."

"But they trust you with it?" Nero asked.

"They do," Sanctus said. "I am one of them now."

"And soon you will be one of us," Kandras told him. "If you succeed in your mission."

Standing in the rear of the crew compartment were Gyrus and Farus, but they were not physically present. Gyrus was lying unconscious on the planet Ulis, millions of miles away and hundreds of years later. Farus had brought him into Grimfist's memories so they could witness the origins of the issues that now faced their Chapter. They were incapable of interacting with their surroundings, no matter how hard they tried.

"Chief Librarian," Gyrus said, "Where were you at this point?"

"I was back aboard the _Glory of Russala_ , in orbit," Farus explained. "Sanctus' early training and initiation proceedings were overseen personally by Master Nero. He did not want me involved."

"But you and Master Grimfist are such close friends," Gyrus said. "I assumed we would watch the two of you growing closer."

"Sanctus would not join the First Company rightaway," Farus said. "He and I would not become friends for decades, when Kandras was Master and he was First Captain. We crossed paths many times before that point, of course, not least since I served the First Company under him, but it was a working relationship rather than a brotherly one."

"What about the last vision we saw?" Gyrus asked. "At the Aquilinary?"

"We were there together," Farus said. "But he was young, and troubled by the death of his father. He did not remember my presence until we revisited the memory together."

The ride became smoother as the shuttle cleared the sand storms and banked towards the sprawling, glittering mass of Storenhive. Instead of making for the city's spires it dived sharply down into its lower levels. It was making for the Underhive, the gloomy domain whose residents went their entire lives without ever seeing the outside world. Day and night were little more than abstract concepts so far down. Sleep cycles were regulated by light-strips in the distant ceilings. Hundreds of prying eyes followed the shuttle as it slid through the dark. It came down in a huge, empty sewer drain, a yawning cavern with featureless ferrocrete walls that had fallen into disuse long ago.

Sanctus walked confidently down the ramp. He'd spent three years infiltrating the societies of the Underhive. This was his territory and he knew it well.

Gyrus and Farus followed him.

"We must go," Nero called, from inside the shuttle. "This will draw too much attention. Remember to signal us when you need us."

"I will, my lord," Sanctus said. "Knowledge and faith."

"Knowledge and faith," Nero returned.

Gyrus turned to Farus as the shuttle pulled away.

"This seems absurd," he said. "At this point, Master Grimfist was not even an initiate. He was not a member of the Chapter in any capacity. Why was he allowed to use our customs? Why was Master Nero so kind to him, even though he was a mortal human?"

"Nero always saw something in Sanctus," Farus said. "And I did too, though I was watching his progress from a distance. Sanctus was his protégé in many ways."

"But the line of succession is clear," Gyrus said. "It should have been Kandras who was the favourite. He was First Company Captain."

"You have reached the heart of the matter," Farus told him. "And the dark heart of our Chapter. Those are the secrets we have kept buried for so long."

"I do not follow," Gyrus said.

"Be patient," Farus advised.

Sanctus had spent a few minutes surveying the area, checking no-one had followed the shuttle to its landing site. Satisfied that he was alone, he made for one of the dark tunnels that led away from the sewer drain. He seemed to know his way by heart. Each corner was taken with no hesitation.

"The Underhive," Farus said, as they followed him. "It is truly another world."

"One I am unfamiliar with," Gyrus said. "I was of noble birth, to House Laurentinius. I spent my childhood in this hive's upper spires."

"I daresay you were yet unborn at this point," Farus said.

"You would be right," Gyrus agreed.

Sanctus took a winding path, down steep staircases covered in slimy moss and past reservoirs of still, rancid water. Finally he climbed a rusted old ladder and emerged from the sewers into the open.

They came after him a few moments later to find themselves standing in a clearing among ancient, towering hab-blocks. Lines of washing had been strung between the crumbling buildings. There were no bright lights, just flickering torches and dim lamps. Beneath their feet were tarnished, cracked cobblestones littered with rubbish and waste. The place had been built as a housing development and left to decay. It was a sad sight.

"It troubles me," Gyrus said. "To think Russalans live in this conditions. The Knights exist to serve them. Do they even know that much?"

"Perhaps one day you can do something to change their situation," Farus said. "Nero, Emperor bless him, spent his life trying. But the Imperium's problems are myriad. We simply cannot concern ourselves with every innocent life."

"This is where Chaos festers," Gyrus observed. "Where it takes root."

"But it is hard for it to escape from here," Farus said. "As it is for anyone."

Sanctus had headed down a narrow alleyway between two of the derelict hab-blocks. He unknowingly led them along a dingy corridor and into a cramped elevator. There was barely enough room for the three of them inside it. Every now and then he would shift his position and his shoulder would slide through Gyrus' arm. Neither of them felt anything from the overlap; Gyrus was not really there. It was a strange half-existence.

The elevator climbed to the top of the shaft and its doors opened onto the roof of the block. Far above them was the ceiling, shrouded in darkness and smoke from the chimneys below.

Carrow Grimfist was sitting on a makeshift throne at the edge of the rooftop, flanked by braziers and surrounded by thugs. They wore sets of armour cobbled together from anything they could find and carried crowbars and wooden planks.

"So," he said to Sanctus, "You've returned."

"I have, Carrow," Sanctus replied, as he dropped to one knee.

"And?" Carrow asked. "What did you find up on the surface?"

"I visited the appraiser, as you commanded," Sanctus said. "He was delighted to hear of the artefact in our possession. Apparently it carries an extremely high value."

Carrow reached behind the throne.

"Then we shall have the riches we so deserve," he hissed.

He produced a beautiful golden chalice, sparkling with jewels and inscribed with ancient runes.

"Librarian," Gyrus said, "Is that . . ."

"Is it the very same chalice that now resides in Sanctus' quarters," Farus said. "The symbol of our Chapter. Using such a sacred object a heretic could strike a favourable deal with the Dark Gods. Consus Aquilinus intended to use it as his bargaining tool, but he never got his chance. After the ruin of the Aquilinary it was salvaged by the Grimfists and brought here. The Chapter has been trying to recover it ever since."

"How did Consus come to have it?" Gyrus said.

"We trusted him with its care," Farus said. "His betrayal came as a surprise to us all. These gangers do not realise its true power. They want only riches from it, not the blessings of Chaos."

"But let me guess," Gyrus said. "The Dark Gods have their eye on it."

"Which is why Nero was so keen to use Sanctus to retrieve it," Farus nodded.

They returned their attention to the conversation.

"Let me see it," Sanctus was saying.

Carrow held it out to him.

He took it, and a moment later the roar of distant engines split the air as the Chapter shuttle came in low over the rooftops.

Sanctus was gone in a moment, sprinting away from the gangers.

They rushed after him only to be cut down as the shuttle's ramp dropped, allowing Kandras and Nero to catch them in a withering hail of explosive bolter rounds. It came down on the rooftop and they strode out into the open.

"Fine work," Nero praised. "I knew my faith was not misplaced."

"It never is, my lord," Kandras said.

Sanctus walked up to them and handed the chalice over.

Nero admired it.

"This was given to one of the early Masters by Primarch Guilliman himself," he said. "And for years House Aquilinus was trusted with its care. Now it will be safe for evermore in our keeping." He looked down at Sanctus. "As will you. Congratulations, child. You have proven yourself to us."

"Thank you, Master," Sanctus said, with a bow.

Nero laid his gauntlets on Sanctus' shoulders. Each was as big as his head.

"You will now be formally initiated into the Chapter," he said. "But remember, that is no guarantee of success, or even survival. To become a Marine you will have to prove yourself to me.

"To have such an opportunity is more than I could ever had dreamed," Sanctus said.

"Good," Nero nodded. "Knowledge and faith."

Sanctus smiled up at him.

"Knowledge and faith," he returned.


	30. S4 E3: Sleeping Dogs

Series IV - Revelations

Episode III - Sleeping Dogs

 _Gyrus has been reliving the memories of Sanctus Grimfist through a psychic projection provided by Chief Librarian Farus. Through this, he has learned that Grimfist was of noble birth but that his history was buried after his father fell to Chaos, at Farus' suggestion. While he remains unconscious for the time being, his fellow Knights begin their investigation into the death of Third Captain Jarfur._

A forward operating base had been set up in the burned-out main hall of the Governor's Palace. The cavernous space had been partitioned up by hanging curtains to make room for briefing tables and storerooms. Now the Knights' banners hung from the walls, pure white with a golden chalice against a background of flames.

Narre had been working in the medical station for the better part of two hours, since the serfs had put the finishing touches to the base. As one of only two Apothecaries attached to the ground forces, he was stretched to his limit. Several squads had taken casualties in the assault. He knew his superiors would be quick to blame that on Jarfur's bad decisions. He hadn't seen Jarfur since getting to work; rumours were flying around that Grimfist had detained him for punishment or, more ignominiously still, earmarked him for demotion. But Narre didn't care about the Chapter's internal politics. His mind was fixed on his friend.

Gyrus was lying on a table at the back of the hall, motionless since the generator had exploded. Lonnar had muttered something about his armour's Machine Spirit being hard at work and needing space, but Narre was too devout to believe him. He had run a brief analysis and determined that Gyrus was simply unconscious, and he had been minded to raise the issue ever since.

Lonnar was standing in the corner, surveying the scene with a couple of adjutants by his side. He wore long, flowing robes of office.

Narre glanced at him absent-mindedly, wondering what he was thinking. He was pulled from his thoughts by the snapping of fingers.

"Brother," Lucius said. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Narre said, shaking his head. "Not at all. I am sorry."

Lucius had removed his helmet and carried it under his arm. His armour was scratched and bloodied from the fight but he wore a broad smile on his face. His dyed blue and white hair fell across his forehead at a crazy angle.

"Good," he said, with a chuckle. "I cannot wait to get back into the fight. The Tau might not have their precious technology anymore but they still have the numbers. There is work to be done pushing them out of the city. Word is the Imperial Guard are moving in."

"You will get your battle," Narre said. "Right now, I am more concerned with checking you over. The xenos found some way of tampering with our suits – there could be all sorts of unforeseen repercussions of that."

"If they are unforeseen, what is the point of looking for them?" Lucius pointed out.

Narre sighed.

"If you are bored, brother," he said, "There is always sparring practice."

"Much as I would like to knock you out cold," Lucius joked, "I would rather help if I can. Gyrus does not seem to be in the best way."

"I was thinking as much," Narre agreed, and frowned. Gyrus' absence gave him time to air his grievances. "Lucius, I have been wanting to apologise for the remark I made in the Thunderhawk during our descent. I told you my friendship with Gyrus was none of your business."

"Don't think I had forgotten," Lucius said, coldly.

"Of course not," Narre said. "But you must see this from his point of view, not mine. We are both his friends, for better or worse. We have to work together regardless of our political views."

Lucius scoffed.

"Politics?" he said. "You think that is what this is about?"

"I did not see any other reason," Narre admitted.

"But I would have thought it was obvious," Lucius said. "I resented him because he threatened my place at the White Council. Seeing him in combat cemented my belief that he deserved the chance I gave him. And when he honourably duelled me and accepted defeat without hesitation, I realised that his intentions were always pure."

"So where do you stand on the Lexicon?" Narre asked. "Did he violate it?"

"I have studied the blessed tome more than anyone else in the Second Company," Lucius said. "But I am not deaf. I read the transcript of what Chief Librarian Farus said during the White Council and it made a lot of sense. The early Knights could not possibly have predicted our current situation." He slotted his helmet back into place and folded his arms. "It changed my mind about Captain Jarfur, for one thing. I see now how his constant protests hold us back."

"Well, it seems like you have strong opinions," Narre observed.

Lucius shrugged.

"I would never act on them," he said. "My allegiance is to the Chapter, not any faction within it."

"Well said, brother," Narre told him.

Lucius turned and walked away.

Narre smiled to himself, glad that he had made his peace, and looked over at Lonnar once more.

Lonnar beckoned for him to come over.

He glanced around furtively to check no-one would see them before crossing the hall to him. Apothecaries and Techmarines were polar opposites, one dedicated to the holy mission of healing the Emperor's divine Astartes and the other following a path of heresy and delusion.

"Master of the Forge," he said dutifully, as he approached. "Is there something I need to know?"

"You're doing a fine job, Apothecary," Lonnar said. "Totally misguided, naturally, but that can be said of any of your ilk. Your work is acceptable given the circumstances. I would like to know why you are being so secretive."

"My task is to be impartial," Narre said. "I cannot attract controversy."

"Conversing with me is attracting controversy?" Lonnar asked, innocently.

"You know it is," Narre said.

Lonnar laughed and ran a hand through his shocking white hair.

"I do," he agreed.

Narre had no intention of wasting time getting to the point.

"You lied about Gyrus," he said.

Lonnar offered him no reply.

"Apparently you have a good reason for keeping him under," Narre went on. "And yet he is simply unconscious. Why not wake him?"

"This is an extremely delicate situation, Apothecary," Lonnar said, ominously.

"At the very least, tell me why you are here," Narre demanded. "I can see no purpose to it, and it risks disturbing or distracting our brothers."

"Your brothers," Lonnar corrected him, instinctively. "And my visit has a purpose you do not yet understand. But you will."

"Then show me," Narre said.

Lonnar wordlessly turned and led him out of a small door at the back of the hall.

They found themselves in a clearing with a cloister running around it and cobbles beneath their feet. To their left was a narrow alleyway. It would have been wide enough for a pair of humans but they had to take it single file. At the other end was another yard, this one with a tent put up in the middle. The flap was swung closed, but the Marine guarding it lifted it up when he saw them.

Standing over the corpse on the tiles were Sanctus Grimfist and Farus. They wore beautifully embroidered tunics over their Black Carapaces. The conduits woven into Farus' psychic hood were pulsing rhythmically as his mind combed the Warp.

"And where is Gyrus now?" Grimfist was asking.

"I am keeping him in a suspended state," Farus explained. "He does not realise that his perception of time is frozen. That allows my own mind to remain here, where it is needed."

"My lords," Lonnar cut in. "I brought him, as you ordered."

They looked over at Narre.

"Excellent," Grimfist said. "Take a look, Apothecary."

Narre examined the body.

It had been thrown unceremoniously to the ground. Dry blood had formed little rivers in the cracks of mortar between the tiles, running outwards from the corpse's head. His entire skull had collapsed, rendering him unidentifiable at first sight.

Narre knelt beside him.

"Holy Emperor," he whispered.

"Yes," Farus agreed, gravely. "The remains are those of Captain Jarfur."

"I always thought Jarfur's reckless tactics would be the death of him someday," Narre muttered to himself. "But it is not the identity of the body that puzzles me, rather the manner of its death." He pointed to what was left of Jarfur's right temple. "From what I can tell, this is the work of a carnifex bolt. They're found on Narthecia."

"Are you saying," Grimfist said, "That this came from inside the Chapter?"

"Narthecia are carried by Apothecaries, yes," Narre said. "And I understand the gravity of such an accusation. However, the carnifex bolt is intended for euthanizing mortally wounded Astartes. There may be a perfectly reasonable explanation."

He ran his hand gently down Jarfur's breastplate, feeling around the edges of the tear in his armour. Small flecks of flesh and gore were stuck to it.

"What can you give us?" Farus prompted.

"I cannot know for sure without his armour logs," Narre said. "But the Larraman cells have healed the wound, and they only operate when the flesh is living. It looks as if this was not fatal." He straightened up. "This was murder. Someone with a Narthecium must have killed him."

"So it was one of us," Grimfist concluded.

"Not necessarily," Narre said. "But it is possible."

"You carry a Narthecium," Farus pointed out.

Narre turned to him.

"Do you truly believe it was me, sir?" he said. "I would never harm one of my superiors. Jarfur was a good man, and a fine warrior, even if I did disagree with him."

"Not to mention," Lonnar said, "Narre was with me when this happened. He is innocent."

Ignoring their politicking, Narre gestured to the trail of blood that reached across the yard.

"See here, my lords?" he pointed. "He was dragged, or possibly carried, and then dropped to the ground. The Tau would do no such thing. They would find it physically difficult, and even if they had the incentive to try, their honour code would not permit it."

"It must have been a fellow Astarte," Grimfist said. "Which makes this infinitely more difficult. It would have been one thing for a xenos to use our technology, but this crime is heretical. The perpetrator must be located."

"The Inquisitor will not be pleased," Farus said.

"Speaking of which," Grimfist said, "I must talk with you alone. Apothecary, remain here and continue scanning the body. I want a full confirmation of the cause of death and swabs to see if we can find the culprit. We have the DNA of every Chapter member on record, so this should not take long."

"Of course, sir," Narre said. "Knowledge and faith."

"Knowledge and faith," Grimfist returned.

He and Farus stepped into an anteroom and turned right along a corridor. Soft afternoon light shafted in on them from arched windows cut in the wall. At the other end was a balcony. The low railing gave them a drab, dreary view of Fastunhive's flank. The Governor's Palace was hundreds of feet above the surface; they should have been able to see for miles, but instead the vista was hidden behind a thick curtain of smoke. The entire third level of the city was ablaze. Flames licked out from beneath them and curled upwards, desperately trying to consume the hive proper. Ash was floating down to them, coating the veranda and piling in its corners.

"Brother," Grimfist said, leaning on the railing, "What was that? Why were you so quick to accuse Apothecary Narre?"

Farus frowned.

"I do not know, Sanctus," he admitted. "It was a reflex."

"It is not like you to lack full control," Grimfist said.

"Yes," Farus said. "And it will not happen again. I suppose reliving all your memories has distracted me from my normal duties. It is a difficult experience."

Grimfist nodded understandingly.

"Where have you got to?" he asked.

"The point where you must join us," Farus said. "We watched your formal initiation into the Chapter on behalf of Master Nero."

"I remember it well," Grimfist sighed. "That was before we befriended each other."

"How I wish I could have been there to witness it first-hand," Farus said, wistfully. "But I will happily settle for your recollections. As ever, it is an honour to be given access to them."

"Then let us experience that honour together," Grimfist said. "Bring me in. What is next?"

"Pathonia," Farus said, and his eyes flashed pure white as he resumed the projection.


	31. S4 E4: Pathonia

Series IV - Revelations

Episode IV - Pathonia

 _The nature of Jarfur's death has finally been revealed to the Chapter, but in their haste for justice they believe his murdered to be drawn from their own ranks. Moreover, Chief Librarian Farus seems somewhat distracted and terse. But Sanctus Grimfist is determined to proceed with revealing the truth to the unconscious Gyrus nonetheless. Next follows the history of Pathonia, and the battle there that shook the Chapter for evermore._

Pathonia rose into the burning sky, mythical, legendary and ancient. And under siege.

The dark hordes of Chaos had poured upon Stygies XI with unbridled ferocity. The Planetary Defence Forces had been overrun by sheer force of numbers and by dint of heretical will. There was nothing they could do to withstand the tide of cultists. No sooner had the enemy set foot on the surface than embedded cells of traitors sprang to life. Within days most major political figures were dead and the armies were leaderless. Stygies fell.

And Pathonia rose.

Only the planet's capital now remained, one final bastion against the tide of filth that clattered against its soaring stone walls. It was a relic of a time when tribes had fought viciously for control of Stygies' southern continent. For thousands of years its fortifications had stood useless, watched by ceremonial guards, unneeded. And when the invaders had come, those aged walls had worked exactly as had been intended.

A seemingly endless flood of cultists poured through the ruined gates to the city. They flowed like water, pressed tightly against each other as they charged. Any who fell were crushed underfoot and forgotten. They were not worthy.

Ready to meet them were a few remaining soldiers of the Stygian Planetary Defence Force, as well as elements of the Pathonian City Watch. They were outnumbered a hundred to one, but they paid that no heed. They knew their victory was imminent.

Watch-Commander Salahiel climbed the wooden ladder and emerged onto the granary's rooftop. Before her stood a line of her subordinates, all of them firing down on the courtyard below with their ornamental bolt-action rifles. They wore decorated suits of metal armour that had never been designed to see combat. The government of Stygies had been complacent, and that had made it weak.

"Kiera!" she snapped. "Over here."

One of the soldiers lowered her rifle and crossed the rooftop.

"My lady," she said, clenching and releasing a fist as was customary on their world. It symbolised her mind opening to permit a candid conversation.

Salahiel returned the gesture.

"I have received word," she said. "They will be with us shortly."

"That is excellent news," Kiera breathlessly replied. "We can hold them, but not for long."

"Worry not," Salahiel told her, laying a hand on her shoulderpad. "This day is ours."

They crossed to the railing and looked down on the courtyard. Once it had been used for parades on high days and holy days. Now it was a killing field, littered with a carpet of bodies. The cultists were cut down as they surged forward. And still they came. Flashes of light flickered down into their massed ranks from the buildings and the city wall. The defenders were keeping them at bay.

Salahiel took up a spare rifle and aimed through the iron sights. She slid the bolt home, held her breath and sent a bullet into the forehead of a heretic.

"Fine shooting, my lady," Kiera said, appreciatively.

"Learn by doing, not by watching," Salahiel said. "With me."

Kiera raised her own gun.

They began choosing targets and picking them off one by one. It was easy work. The cultists were too fanatical to fire back. Their hidden leaders knew the blunt force of numbers would win the battle eventually. Until then, each death was simply fuel on the fire of Chaos.

Salahiel snarled as she slotted a new magazine into place. Her elected leaders were dead, her soldiers low on rations and ammunition and her city burning. This was the best chance she'd ever have to get her revenge.

Eventually the advancing ranks of cultists began encroaching on the granary. They rattled the iron bars against the windows and pressed their weight on the thick wooden door. The leading soldiers had the life snuffed out of them by the tide of bodies pushing them against it. Now stopped in its tracks by the barricades at the heads of the streets leading into the courtyard, the crowd grew restless. They were determined to find a way to break through.

"My lady," Kiera said, happily, "The trap is set."

"What a joyful day this is," Salahiel said. "The flare gun?"

Kiera handed it over.

Salahiel cocked it, aimed it into the air and pulled the trigger.

A gleaming plume of red flame split the sky.

"Cavalry!" she bellowed as it climbed, her voice echoing out across Pathonia.

There came a dull rumbling from around the granary, quiet at first but soon increasing in volume. It was the heavy footfalls of hooves. Suddenly long columns of armoured horsemen began advancing down the side streets, accelerating towards the barricades. The horses mounted the ramps that had been put in place and jumped the defences with ease to slam down into the massed ranks of cultists beyond. They were using the closely packed crowd to their advantage. While the heretics were constrained by the lack of space, unable to swing their crude weapons, the horses could barrel through them with abandon. The cavalry cut bloody swathes through their numbers.

A shadow fell over Salahiel and she looked up.

It was a Chaos vessel, its engines flaring and thundering as it descended from orbit, drawing long vapour trails out behind it. At more than three kilometres from prow to stern, it dwarfed the city defences below. As she watched, it moved into position above the wastes beyond Pathonia's walls.

"Our saviours had better hurry up," Kiera muttered, a little doubtfully.

"They'll be here," Salahiel assured her.

As if on cue, a searing bolt of blinding light lanced down from space and cut straight through the Chaos ship, slicing it neatly in two. The halves hung in the air for an agonising moment before beginning their long descent to the ground below. They came down one after the other, exploding with the force t of a dying sun. For a few moments the whole world was nothing but light and sound and fury. And when it was gone, the sky was filled with long, glimmering, flaming streaks.

"Just in time," Salahiel said. "With me."

She led Kiera back down the ladder into the granary.

The cultists were panicking. Caught between the cavalry, who were still hard at work thinning their ranks, and the new threat from above, they had nowhere to go. The city gates formed a choke point that effectively cut off their exit. Cries of terror rose into the air as the first of the drop pods slammed down into the crowd. Their intelligent Machine Spirits steered them clear of the allied forces and into particularly tightly packed pockets of heretics. Each one landed in a geyser of blood and gore. But that bloodshed was barely the start.

Dominicus Nero tore out of the pod with an otherworldly fury. Nothing stood in his way. From his wrists blazed sacred storm bolters and in his hands was held Downfall, his personal power sword that had once belonged to Primarch Guilliman. The blade was never happier than when it was taking the lives of the Dark Gods' minions, and neither was Nero himself. He bellowed battle cries as he smashed through the press.

It did not take long for the cultists to break, and when they did the cavalry was there to meet them. Even as the White Knights cleared them out of the courtyard the mounted soldiers moved into position by the gate, trapping them in place. The battle was won in a matter of minutes.

Nero strode over bodies, crunching bones underfoot. He cared not for the honour of the dead. There was no honour in Chaos.

First Captain Kandras came with him.

Salahiel was there to meet them, with Kiera by her side.

"My lords," she greeted them. "This honour is . . . well, it's simply unspeakable."

She made her world's sign once more, clenching her fist and then releasing it.

They signed the Aquila in return.

"The honour is ours," Nero said. "Killing the followers of the Dark Gods is a privilege, not a duty. It is a fine way to live. But corruption runs deep through this planet. How can we know that this fight is done? Do you trust the few who remain under your command?"

Kandras had his gauntlet on the hilt of his power sword. He had sheathed it but now he was ready to use it once more.

"There can be no half measures when dealing with Chaos," he agreed.

"I don't know what we can do to prove our loyalty," Salahiel said, looking up at him.

"You can do nothing," he said. "It must be verified by one of our own."

"You just arrived," she pointed out. "How are you meant to . . ?"

Kandras ignored her, opening a radio channel with his mind.

"Sanctus," he sent. "What say you?"

The feed crackled and he ran it through the speakers in his armour.

" _They're loyal, my lord_ ," Sanctus sent back. " _I have been observing them for some time now_."

"Thank you," Kandras said.

"How is that possible?" Salahiel asked.

Kandras turned and pointed across the courtyard. A small collection of bulky figures had appeared on one of the neighbouring rooftops. They wore stripped-down suits of power armour, only plating rather than a full set, and long flowing cloaks that shimmered in the sunlight.

"As you heard," Nero said, "Scouts of the Tenth Company have been stationed here for days. I chose to keep their presence a secret from you. I did not know which locals I could trust."

"That seems fair," Salahiel admitted.

"Sanctus is a Sergeant of mine, a rising star in our ranks," Nero went on. "He has been watching proceedings, listening in on everything we all say and do. If he says you are loyal, then you are loyal. It is beyond doubt." He held out a giant gauntlet. "The siege is broken."

"Thank the Emperor for that," Salahiel said, and reached out to him. Her entire hand fit into his palm. His thick, armoured fingers curled around her wrist.

"Sir," Kandras said, to Nero, "There are still the remnants in the sewers."

"The sewers?" Salahiel asked. "We knew nothing of this."

"No, you did not," Nero said. "But Sanctus soon identified them. The cultists have made their base beneath the city. It was from there that they arranged the assassinations of your leaders and orchestrated the downfall of your society. We will clear them out soon. Enough of your people have died here already."

Salahiel didn't know what to say, both to the revelation and his offer.

"In the meantime," Nero went on, ignoring her silence, "We will need to set up a base of operations. We must give the cultists the impression that their presence in the sewers has gone unnoticed. That will take some time."

"So you're staying?" Salahiel asked.

"For a few days, yes," Nero said. "If that would be acceptable."

No words came to Salahiel's mind. Being allowed to host the Knights in her city was beyond any honour she had ever imagined.

"We'll find room for you," Kiera said, speaking for her.

"Perfect," Nero said. "Let us go."

The four of them turned and walked away towards the granary, to plan their next move.

Following them were projections of Farus, Gyrus and Grimfist. They strode through the Space Marines in the courtyard, passing right through them with no sensation. The entire scene was merely a projection in the Warp that they had been brought to.

"The sewers," Grimfist recalled. "That is where it began."

"Where what began?" Gyrus asked.

"All the secrets and lies," Grimfist said. "All of them . . . they started here, in Pathonia."


	32. S4 E5: Eviscerator

Series IV - Revelations

Episode V - Eviscerator

 _The battle for Pathonia is done but the war is not yet over. While the White Knights occupy the city, Chapter Master Dominicus Nero puts his plans into place. He will flush the last of the Chaos forces from the city and uncover the reason they attacked it in the first place._

Dominicus Nero stood in the recessed well of the arming chamber, his arms outstretched, while the consecrated servitors attended to him. For almost half an hour they had been blessing him and slowly removing the components of his scared armour one at a time. Now their work was almost finished. All that remained was his breastplate, shining with the chalice symbol on its chest.

" _Look to your battle gear and it will protect you_ ," they chorused.

" _We guard it with our lives_ ," he replied.

One of the servitors approached him. A collection of small incense burners hung around its neck. They clinked against each other as it reached up to his breastplate.

" _As your armour guards your life_ ," it said.

" _As it has my fallen brethren_ ," he returned.

It pulled the breastplate away, cradling it in its mechanical hands, whispering prayers.

" _Honour the craft of death_ ," the others said.

" _We serve only the Emperor_ ," Nero recited.

Outside the arming chamber, invisible to the younger Sanctus who stood in wait, Gyrus, Farus and Grimfist listened in. They had lowered their heads to pray as well. The words were significant although they were not truly there to recite them.

" _Honour the battle gear of the dead_ ," the servitors said.

" _We ask only to serve_ ," they all replied.

Sanctus walked over to the arming chamber. It had been manoeuvred into place in the middle of the cool, open rotunda at the top of the Confessor's Palace in Pathonia. The Confessor himself was long dead, picked off by a heretical assassin's bullet, and the Knights had been using the complex as their headquarters during their stay in the city.

"My lord," Sanctus said. "We stand ready."

Nero descended the metal steps to him. Sanctus wore his scout armour, a set of ceramite plates over a camouflaged undersuit and a long camo-cloak, but even so Nero stood at least a head taller than him. After his promotion to Master centuries earlier his genetics had been augmented to increase his already impressive stature. Now he stood eight feet tall. His facial features recalled those of the Primarch from whom he was directly descended. With a head of blonde hair, gaunt cheeks and deep-set blue eyes he truly resembled a young Guilliman.

"Excellent," he said. "I will follow your lead, brother."

Sanctus bowed and turned away.

Nero followed him out of the rotunda and down the broad set of stairs into the palace gardens. Pavilions had been put up alongside the rows of trees and Knights were all around, engaging in sparring practice or relaxing in their tunics. Some offered prayers, some cleaned weapons, but all of them stopped what they were doing and signed the Aquila when they saw Nero among them.

First Captain Kandras was waiting by an open grate near an ornamental pond. He wore no armour, like his Chapter Master.

Watch-Commander Salahiel of Pathonia was with him, looking smart in a dress uniform.

"Master," she said to Nero, clenching and releasing her fist. "I am ready."

He solemnly signed the Aquila back to her.

"Then let us proceed," he said.

Sanctus was the first one down the ladder and into the darkness below. They followed him one by one, including the three psychic projections. The tunnel led away from the palace complex at a slant, descending further and further underneath the city.

"What is the purpose of this?" Gyrus asked aloud. He could not be heard or felt in any way.

Grimfist nodded at his younger self.

"At the time, I did not know," he admitted. "Nero had trusted me to find the cultists' base of operations and clear it out, then return to him. It had to be done in secret, he said. No-one except me would know. I located them in the Font of Tears, an ancient underground fortification constructed by the city's architects to be used in the event of a siege."

"Salahiel," Nero said, his voice echoing back along the tunnel to them. "You are the only mortal entrusted with the knowledge of what is about to happen. I am choosing to share it with you because Sanctus swears by your loyalty. If he was wrong, or if you pass this on to anyone else, your life will be forfeit. If that troubles you, turn back now."

"It does not trouble me," she said. "I serve the Emperor with all my heart."

Nero did not reply, but he gave a grateful nod.

Salahiel quickened her step to match Sanctus' pace at the head of the group. He had memorised the route beneath the city and took each turn with no hesitation.

Grimfist beckoned for Farus and Gyrus to follow him.

"I remember this," he explained.

"I owe you some thanks," Salahiel was saying, to the young Sanctus.

"What for?" he asked.

"Vouching for me," she said. "To have Master Nero trust me is the highest honour I have ever received, and it would never have happened without you."

Sanctus only shrugged.

"He wanted to be sure you were not under the influence of the Dark Gods," he said. "I observed you and established that they held no power over you, then took that information to him. None of that was done for you. It was for the Chapter and for the Emperor."

"Still," she said. "I never dreamed of being here."

"We don't know what we're here for yet," he cautioned.

She looked ahead, down the tunnel.

"No," she said. "But I think we're about to find out."

They emerged onto a broad, sweeping balcony that ran all the way around a gigantic circular chamber hundreds of metres across. Raging waterfalls cascaded down the walls from the city's storm drains. In the centre, rising from a pool of shimmering water, was a building capped with a tapering marble spire. The spire's sides had been cut out, giving them a clear view of what was inside it. An eerie, otherworldly light spilled from the open chamber within.

"That is our destination," Nero said, determinedly. "With me, brothers."

One by one they descended the narrow staircase that led down to the pool at the building's base. The ceiling arched high above their heads. Water dripped down here and there, and Salahiel took care on the steps. She was alone in doing so; the Marines' enhanced physiology gave them near-perfect balance. They reached the bottom in a few moments. The pool was only a foot deep.

"See there," Sanctus said, gesturing to the motionless bodies floating ahead of them. "It took only a little effort to clear the cultists out. My sniper rifle proved more than capable of the task."

"Fine work," Nero said. "It was vital that we remain undisturbed."

"The mission would have been easier with support," Sanctus told him, a little sharply.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

"I am sure," he said, pointedly. "But I trusted you alone with its execution. You will see why."

They pressed on, through the water.

The legs of the three projections made no ripples as they moved.

"You see," Grimfist said. "I was as curious as you are."

"I only wish I could have been there," Farus sighed. "When Nero . . ."

"Excuse me, brother," Grimfist interrupted. "I want Gyrus to see it for himself. We must not colour his view of events."

Farus nodded and fell silent.

For his part, Gyrus was wondering what he could possibly be about to witness. He knew it was the beginning of the swirling controversies that coloured the Knights' reputation even to the present day. His mind was filled with theories about what it might be. None of them seemed possible.

Soon enough they had climbed the stairs into the room beneath the open spire. Marble supports climbed above them. Every pillar and column was intricately decorated with swirling patterns etched in the stone and inlaid in gold and silver.

The place was obviously sacred, and yet Gyrus felt unsettled. Something was wrong.

"This is a risk," Grimfist explained. "The presence of Chaos is strong here and it is capable of crossing the boundaries of time and space. In being here, we place ourselves in danger."

Farus nodded. The conduits around his forehead were pulsing more than before.

"I can protect us," he said, firmly. "Gyrus needs to see this."

And Gyrus was watching.

The floor in the centre of the room parted in an iris pattern, the marble segments sliding smoothly aside to allow a pedestal to rise from beneath them. Hovering in the air above it was a wickedly sharp knife. It was suspended in midair. Blood dripped from its edge but it was frozen in place by the stasis field around it, as if time had stopped in just that tiny pocket of reality. It shone not with a metallic light but with a dark glow, brooding, thinking and waiting.

"Emperor save us," Salahiel muttered.

"You understand now?" Nero asked her.

"Yes," she said. "This place . . . I've heard of it. It is the Font of Tears."

"Indeed," Nero agreed. "And if you know that, you know what that weapon is."

"The blade is not important, so much as what it bears," she said. "The Eviscerator Virus."

Nero nodded.

"Among the most potent and deadly weapons devised in the history of the galaxy," he said, addressing the others now. "This blade, once wielded by the fallen Primarch Fulgrim, was used to cut the throat of Roboute Guilliman himself. After the Primarch was interred in the stasis field on Macragge, his beloved Ultramarines brought it here and placed it under the same protection. Both remain frozen in time, living relics of the Horus Heresy."

"Why not destroy it?" Kandras said. "Surely it cannot be allowed to survive."

"The Eviscerator Virus is a tool of Chaos," Nero told him, matter-of-factly. "It is capable of poisoning almost any living being. Hoping to use it to their advantage one day, the Ultramarines left it here for safekeeping. They intended for it to be forgotten."

"But now it has been found," Sanctus realised.

"We broke the siege of Pathonia," Nero said, "But the battle is not yet won. It never will be. Stygies will become an eternal target for legions of heretics and traitors. With this weapon they could bring low the Emperor Himself. We perish the thought."

"So we do as Captain Kandras said," Salahiel suggested. "Destroy it."

"It was forged in the Eye of Terror, on the personal request of Fulgrim," Nero said. "No power we wield would be capable of effecting its destruction. On the contrary, we must allow it to fulfil its purpose. We must give the virus a host."

"And what was when I realised the terrible truth," Grimfist said, gravely.

Sanctus moved forward. His face had paled.

"Master," he said. "Surely you cannot be serious. You mean to make a host of _yourself?_ "

"I have been planning as much for a long time now," Nero said.

"This must be a joke," Kandras said.

"It is no joke," Nero replied. "The Eviscerator Virus will work slowly. I will have time to cement my legacy and foster in a new generation of leaders for our glorious Chapter."

"But the future . . ." Sanctus said.

Nero turned to him and laid his hands on his shoulders.

" _You_ are the future," he said. "And I am the past. I have led the Knights long enough. I always knew it could not last forever. Do not deny that you did as well."

"My lord," Sanctus said, and his eyes were moist with tears. "You simply cannot do this. It is madness. Someone else can bear this burden." He gestured to the blade. "I could do it. It would be the work of a moment."

"Or I, even," Kandras ventured.

"Of course you could," Nero said, with a wry smile. "Any of you could. But that does not mean you _should_. Yes, my life is of the greatest worth to the Chapter at this moment, but we all know it will not remain that way. My greatest hope is to secure the future of the Knights. Freed from concerns of mortality, safe in the knowledge of my faith, I can work unbridled by worry or uncertainty. By my calculations, I will have the better part of three decades to put the pieces in place for my successor."

"There must be another way," Sanctus insisted.

Nero ignored him. He reached into the stasis field and closed a hand around the grip of the blade. The field flickered and died. A few drops of Guilliman's blood, held in place for thousands of years, stained the marble floor a brilliant red.

"There _is_ another way," Nero said to Sanctus, his eyes twinkling with warmth. He showed no fear. "And another, and another. There are dozens, if not hundreds of ways. We are rarely, if ever, short for choices of how to die in service to the Emperor. If I do not make that sacrifice this century, I will make it the next one, or the one after that. The only difference is that right now, I have identified a golden opportunity. I can do what is right for the Knights and deprive the enemy of a powerful weapon at the same time. This chance may never arise again."

He raised the knife, ready to bring it down into his left hand.

Sanctus stepped towards him only to find Kandras' strong arm around his stomach.

"Brother," Kandras said, "He has made his choice. He is sacrificing his own desires for the greater good of the Imperium. You must do the same."

Sanctus's shoulders fell. His arms swung limply by his sides.

"That was when I realised," Grimfist said. "Kandras was right. I wanted Nero to live, but what I wanted was unimportant. My opinion had no effect on what was the correct course of action."

Gyrus nodded. He understood too.

Nero closed his eyes and stabbed the knife into his palm. It slid right through and out the other side. With a flash it was gone, dissolving into smoke that dissipated in a dark cloud. The veins in Nero's arm turned black and began to bulge. He grunted as if in pain, but he showed no discomfort. Then, with ridiculous ease, the wound sealed and the veins returned to normal.

"It is done," he said. "It may not seem like it, but there is now nothing I can do to avoid my fate. And I am at peace."

Sanctus said nothing.

Kandras and Salahiel remained silent as well.

Grimfist looked around.

"I don't remember this," he said.

Gyrus frowned.

"Something is not right, my lord," he said. "The memory is frozen."

He was not wrong. They were still moving, but the scene had stopped. The waterfalls hung in their places. The dripping blood did not run along the floor. The Marines stood motionless.

Farus had sealed his eyes in concentration.

"Brother," Grimfist said to him, urgently. "What is happening?"

His eyelids flickered by way of response.

"Something is attacking him," Grimfist explained, and shook him by the shoulder. "Brother!"

Again, Farus did not reply.

Suddenly a shimmering light fell across them. A yawning portal had opened above the spire. Tendrils of darkness reached from it and threatened to ensnare them. As its core was a whirling vortex of blinding energy.

"The projection is breached," Gyrus said. "We must leave the Warp. We are not safe here."

"Farus," Grimfist growled, shaking the Chief Librarian more violently now. "Hear me!"

The tendrils snaked down to him. One of them wrapped around his arm.

He shrugged it off.

"Listen to me!" he shouted.

Farus' eyes opened.

"What . . ." he breathed, and saw the portal.

In a moment, they were gone.


	33. S4 E6: Apostle

Series IV - Revelations

Episode VI - Apostle

 _The truth has been revealed: Dominicus Nero took the Eviscerator Virus upon himself to prevent it from falling into the hands of Chaos. But perhaps more troubling was the breaching of the projection by those same dark forces. Chief Librarian Farus will have difficult questions to answer upon their return to realspace, and Gyrus will have an important decision to make._

Gyrus' mind fell through the barriers between dimensions and landed in his body once more. He spluttered and gasped, the feeling of reality now unfamiliar to him, and opened his eyes. He was lying on the cold stone floor of a small, intimate chamber. In front of him was a golden altar with a giant steel Aquila suspended above it. Its eyes glowed brightly with artificial light. He could sense from the aura of the place that it had been blessed many times over.

Voices echoed in his ears.

"I do not know!" came a hushed exclamation from Farus. "What more do you want me to say?"

"There must be an explanation," Grimfist said. "It is a matter of finding out."

"And how am I meant to do that, Sanctus?" Farus demanded.

"Do not speak to me like that," Grimfist snapped.

Gyrus pulled himself up and smoothed his long tunic.

They silenced their conversation and turned to him.

"Brother," Grimfist said. "Good to see you awake."

"How did I get here?" Gyrus asked.

"We had you brought here from Fastunhive," Farus explained, "Where the battle still rages. You were kept unconscious there for a time before your relocation." He folded his arms. "Do you remember what you last saw?"

Gyrus massaged his forehead.

"We were on Stygies XI, in Olympia," he recalled. "And Master Nero had infected himself with the Eviscerator Virus. But something went wrong."

"A portal opened," Grimfist said, sharply. "The projection was breached."

"Sanctus, I have already told you that I don't understand it myself," Farus replied. "I have revisited that memory dozens of times and I have always been able to keep my mind safe."

"Perhaps it was because there were more of us there?" Gyrus suggested.

Farus shook his head.

"No," he said. "Everything was fine until the very end, but then my powers seemed to diminish. I cannot tell you why."

"But we have to go back," Gyrus said. "To finish the story."

"We do," Grimfist agreed, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Farus believes he can redouble his efforts and keep us safe. If not, our minds can always return here, as happened when they were last threatened. There is nothing to fear."

"So let us go," Gyrus said.

"Not yet," Grimfist said. "There is something that must be done first. I am not willing to let you see any more than you have seen without a pledge to keep my secrets."

"I pledge it," Gyrus promised, without hesitation.

"Your enthusiasm is appreciated," Grimfist chuckled. "But I need more than that."

He gestured at the chamber in which they stood.

"This is the Amplifier Chamber, aboard the _Glory of Russala_." he said. "The private chapel of the Apostles. I know you have heard that name before."

"You expelled Jarfur from their ranks," Gyrus said.

"Which means there is currently a vacancy," Grimfist remarked. "For which you are the sole candidate. I founded the Apostles when I took command of the Knights, aiming to surround myself with the best and the brightest. They hold various ranks throughout the Chapter, but during our meetings their opinions are all equal. Over the course of my leadership there have been only a dozen members. Today you will become the thirteenth . . . if you accept."

"I am only a soldier," Gyrus pointed out, humbly.

"I need you to be more than that," Grimfist told him. "It was either this or promoting you to the rank of Third Captain, but I do not want to move you between the Companies too readily and there are still many who would see so fast a rise as blatant favouritism."

Gyrus barely needed any time to consider the proposition.

"Thank you, my lord," he said. "It is my honour to accept."

"Excellent," Grimfist said. "And one more thing: they may be my closest allies, but they do not know what you know. Nero began our tradition of secrets by keeping the truth about the Eviscerator Virus from almost everyone. Everything you have seen so far must remain hidden."

Gyrus nodded; Nero's tragic death was believed to have occurred in battle.

"I will tell no-one," he said.

"Then we can begin," Grimfist concluded.

On his signal, Farus walked over to the oaken door to the chamber and swung it open. Through it came Techmarine Lonnar, clad in his elaborately decorated robes of office, and Second Company Captain Harlus. They greeted Gyrus in turn.

"My lords," he said to them, as he returned their signs of the Aquila. "I had no idea . . ."

"There are few who do," Harlus said. "I am so glad to see you among us, brother."

"As am I," Lonnar added, with a sly grin. "Though I dare say you are more surprised to see _me_ than I am to see _you_."

"Yes," Gyrus said. "I would have thought you eschewed our politics."

"You may all act in blatant defiance of the only real truth there is," Lonnar said, pointedly, "But the Adeptus Mechanicus would enjoy having a representative at such a high level. Those I answer to on Mars do not know of my appointment, though I am sure they would approve. I can speak for them."

"As he often does, at great length and at any opportunity," Grimfist joked.

Farus cleared his throat.

"Now we are all here," he said, grandly, "Let us begin."

Gyrus followed the others' lead. He did not know how the meetings proceeded without him. They formed up around the altar and knelt before it. The blazing eyes of the Aquila seemed to intensify.

"O most mighty Emperor," Grimfist prayed, "We beseech You that You might help us through this time of hardship. The loss of allies is always difficult, but to an enemy as foul as the Tau it seems to many to be an insult. I would like to dedicate this service to Sergeant Piraeus and Captain Jarfur. Like all of the fallen, they will be missed. Chief Librarian Farus, I now call upon you to invoke the last rites of the Adeptus Astartes."

" _For Russala and for duty_ ," Farus recited, " _For past and for future, for Terra and the Emperor_."

" _No brother falls forgotten_ ," they all chorused.

Grimfist stood, and they followed suit. He walked around the altar and reached into a drawer cut into its side. Within it was a ceremonial knife, curved and wickedly sharp.

"We all bear the mark of the Apostles," Harlus said, holding out his left hand. Drawn along his palm was a long scar. The skin around it was tight and pale from years of healing.

"Gyrus," Grimfist said. "Are you ready?"

Gyrus knew from the visions he'd been given that the ritual was a nod to Nero's death, and the way he had inflicted the virus upon himself. But he'd been asked to keep those events secret.

"I am," he said, simply.

Farus positioned his hands on the altar, one above the other.

Grimfist raised the knife and bought it down.

To his immense surprise, Gyrus felt no pain. The blade passed straight through his hands and slid into a well-used furrow in the altar's surface. Blood trickled down after it and spread across the tooled mosaics and inscriptions, running along tiny downhill channels to form an outline of the Emperor framed against Holy Terra. He looked up to see Farus' psychic hood working at full strength.

The blood-rivers lit up and exuded a strange light. Time seemed to freeze, then the room fell away and the image of the Emperor rose up and stood before him. Its presence resonated around the room. The shoulderpads of its antique armour were moulded into the shape of swooping eagles and myriad faces were carved into the curves of its suit.

Gyrus' eyes were forced away from His face. His halo was blinding.

As if granting permission for him to look, the light faded.

Now Gyrus could make out His features. He was truly beautiful to behold, with black, flowing hair and shining eyes.

He reached down and curled a hand around Gyrus' chin, then tilted it upwards.

Gyrus stared into those entrancing eyes.

Then the Emperor was gone, replaced by a hideous apparition. The walls and floor fell away too. Cold, hard stone took their place to form a magnificent hall filled with techpriests and engineseers. At its head was a monolithic construction, a gigantic throne on which sat a skeleton shrouded in robes. Its eyes glowed a piercing red in the shadow cast by the thousands of pipes, wires and conduits that snaked into its skull.

That was the Emperor proper, he knew, and in that fistful of rotten grey matter within the skull was the faintest flicker of life, anchoring His vast consciousness to the physical world. The sight was inspiring and disgusting at the same time. Gyrus felt bile rising involuntarily in his throat. He was pulled closer to the corpse until he stood at the base of the throne. There was only one thing that came to mind.

He opened his mouth and began to sing, and the vision dropped away.

In a second the skeleton crumbled and collapsed. The hall disintegrated into shards of light. An ethereal dreamscape swirled and danced around Gyrus. Fragments of reality shattered off his armour. There was a vast presence here, before him wherever he looked. It wrapped itself around him and embraced him with a love stronger than any he had ever imagined. It reached out to him.

With one blink he was standing by the altar, his mouth still open with the final bars of the ghostly hymn. The knife, his impaled hands and the marks on Harlus' arm had all disappeared. They had never been anything more than a trick on his mind, prompted by the Librarian.

There was a moment's silence.

"Beautiful," Grimfist said, and began to clap.

The other Apostles took it up. They applauded him eagerly.

"What happened to me?" Gyrus asked, hoarsely.

"I cast you into the Warp," Farus explained, "And brought your mind to the feet of the Astronomican itself. It felt you and responded. The hymn was a message from the Emperor."

Gyrus' eyes widened.

"That cannot be," he said, in shock. "He spoke to me?"

"Personally, yes," Farus said. "But in Old Gothic, a language lost to time. Chaplain Aurelius will be able to translate the recording for us."

"He has spoken to us all," Harlus told Gyrus. "Giving us all advice."

"What did he say to you?" Gyrus asked.

"That is my secret to bear," Harlus said.

Gyrus had no intention of pressing him on the matter. He turned to Lonnar.

"And you, Master?" he said. "Did you not receive such a message from the Emperor?"

Lonnar laughed aloud.

"I do not know what I received," he replied. "It was advice, certainly, but from whom? How am I to be sure I was not tricked, as I was with the knife and the wounds?" He shook his head. "It will take more than parlour magic to challenge my beliefs."

"Be that as it may," Grimfist cut in, "The ceremony is now complete. Gyrus, you are a fully-fledged member of the Apostles. Congratulations."

"Thank you, my lord," Gyrus said, with a bow.

"Now," Farus said, "Captain Harlus, Master Lonnar . . . I am sure you have some business to attend to elsewhere."

"Well done, Astarte," Harlus said to Gyrus, as he walked out.

" _Ex machina_ ," Lonnar kindly recited.

"Knowledge and faith," Gyrus returned, with a smile.

Farus shut the door behind them and looked at Grimfist.

"Shall we proceed, Sanctus?" he asked.

"Yes," Grimfist said. "I trust Gyrus completely now. It is time for him to know the truth."

Gyrus closed his eyes. He had become familiar with the process. The Amplifier Chamber fell away once more and a new world rose up to meet him.


	34. S4 E7: Husal

Series IV - Revelations

Episode VII - Husal

 _At long last, Gyrus has been inducted into the ranks of the Apostles, represented the latest step in his meteoric rise to power. But this ascent has been coupled with a series of stunning revelations concerning the history of the Chapter. Now, he is ready to dive back into Master Grimfist's memories and discover the truth behind what happened all those years ago._

They had appeared in a dusty, arid courtyard overshadowed by gigantic sand dunes and a sturdy stone tower. Bordering it was a thick, sweeping curtain wall packed with Knights. The Astartes were firing down into the desert outside the fortifications at unseen targets. Aides and adjutants were hurrying around in the courtyard, and they passed straight through the three psychic visitors as they went.

"I know this place," Gyrus realised. "I have read of it. This is Husal."

"The site of Master Kandras' death," Grimfist said.

Gyrus turned to him.

"So we have skipped forward," he said. "By a very long time."

"Indeed we have," Grimfist replied. "Decades, in fact. Nero never wanted to die in an Apothecarium; he insisted on falling in the field of battle. The rest you know."

Gyrus nodded. It was a legend every initiate learned by heart. Master Nero's illness had been concealed from them. Instead, they had been told of his bold and daring strike at the heart of the Tau Empire, an audacious attack that had cost him his life. It was framed as an act of heroism, but Gyrus had always thought it sounded a little foolish. Now he understood the reasoning behind it.

"Kandras succeeded him," he said. "Even though he was grooming _you_ for the post."

"The Eviscerator Virus overcame him faster than he had hoped," Grimfist explained, sadly. "By the time he was nearing death, I was still far too young a Marine for the post of Chapter Master. Kandras was chosen so that I might complete my service in the Deathwatch before replacing him."

"Kandras was the first Master in memory to reach his rank without doing as much," Farus said.

"I remember," Gyrus assured him. "Though he brought glory to the Knights regardless."

"Not quite," Grimfist corrected him. "There is a part of the tale that has been concealed. And it happened right here on Husal, where we made what we thought would be our final stand." He shook his head slowly. "I never understood the decision to invade this world. Kandras proved to be a disappointing tactician, as many thought he would. Before he left, I begged Master Nero to choose me despite my inexperience. I warned him of the damage Kandras could inflict upon our reputation. I will never forget his last words to me."

"What were they?" Gyrus said.

" _Captain Kandras is weak_ ," Grimfist reverently recited, " _And he will weaken the Chapter. He will make bad decisions. It will fall upon you to tolerate that weakness, for one day you will lead the White Knights to glories I can only imagine. Remember that there is always another way, another choice. When the time comes, Sanctus, I hope you will do what is right, not what is correct_."

Gyrus glanced at Farus.

"Sir," he said. "You once quoted those words to me."

"The advice is as sound now as it ever was," Farus said. "In disobeying Captain Jarfur and saving the lives of your fellow Astartes, you showed a spirit that would make Nero proud."

"As did I," Grimfist said, "After Kandras' death."

"What did you do?" Gyrus asked.

"Watch," Grimfist replied. "Follow me."

He pointed through the crowd to a Marine marked as a Captain by his golden shoulderpad, standing by a communications tent and listening in to a radio broadcast. As they came over, he reached up and removed his helmet. His face was different but easily recognisable. It was the face of a younger Grimfist, now Captain of the First Company under Kandras. They followed him away from the tent and up the broad stone staircase onto the outer wall.

Kandras himself was waiting for him. He was looking out over the killing fields before them, calmly observing the hordes of filthy Orks flooding towards their defences. Fire flashed between the two sides but five greenskins took the place of every one they cut down. The creatures were squat and hulking, all knotted muscle and twisting veins. They bore homemade guns and any melee weapons they could find: axes, chainsaws and crude knives.

"What news?" Kandras asked.

Captain Grimfist bowed to him.

"I have spoken with Inquisitor Tomas Fortune," he said. "He leads a Deathwatch Company."

"The Deathwatch have long been allies of ours," Kandras said. "He should be honoured."

Grimfist stared at him seriously.

"They said no," he said.

Kandras' expression was unreadable behind his ceramite helmet, but the shoulderpads of his armour noticeably fell.

"We are alone," he realised.

"Alone?" someone called.

A third Marine came over to them. He had his helmet off and Gyrus recognised him instantly.

"Sergeant Jarfur," Kandras greeted him. "You heard correctly. Go find the Librarian and tell him that we die here, today. Have him prepare the Chapter Banner for burning. We will not let it fall into the hands of these foul abominations."

Jarfur nodded solemnly. He turned and strode away along the wall with the three projections on his heels. Below them a pair of squads were holding the main gate. They were firing through the gaps in the splintered wooden doors at the Ork tide, cutting them down as they approached. The automated bolters mounted on the fortress' turrets were running low on ammunition. It had been half an hour since they had started firing.

"Farus," Jarfur sent, on the radio. "Do you hear me?"

They couldn't hear his reply through his helmet, but he changed his course accordingly. Another of the staircases took them back down into the courtyard.

Farus forged a path through the adjutants. He was covered from head to toe in blood, so much that it was dripping from his breastplate and forming puddles on the flagstones beneath his feet. His psychic hood was working at capacity.

"I bring instructions from the Master," Jarfur told him. "We are to make our last stand here. You are under orders to fetch the Chapter Banner and burn it."

Farus closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"So be it," he said. "With me."

He led Jarfur up the steps to the keep. Lead rained down from the windows above their heads and spat into the enemy masses. Behind them, the gates finally buckled and broke open. A deluge of Orks poured through.

The Marines in the courtyard drew their swords and combat knives and plunged into the fight in a desperate attempt to hold the greenskins off.

Grimfist led Gyrus and Farus through the fighting and up to the wall once more.

Kandras was looking down at the battle raging below.

"They are through," he said, and glanced at Captain Grimfist. "We must get down there. I wish to fall among the bodies of my brothers."

"Yes, Master," Captain Grimfist agreed. "An honourable death for both of us."

" **I'm comin' through!** " a deep voice bellowed, accompanied by the low thud of metallic footsteps. A massive green figure stomped its way past the ruined gates and into the courtyard.

Warlord Bigkrusha had fused his right hand into a gargantuan set of claws, easily capable of tearing through power armour, and his followers had chained a clunky machinegun to his left wrist.

"Master?" Captain Grimfist said. "What do we do?"

"We let them taste the Emperor's justice," Kandras said, and jumped off the wall.

The younger Grimfist was close behind him.

They came down amongst the Orks and battle was joined immediately.

Kandras fought in some kind of trance, scything through the greenskins with ease. His power sword whined and hummed. Nothing stopped it, not even the sheer weight of flesh it cut through.

"The Warlord, Master!" Captain Grimfist warned.

Bigkrusha waded through the nearest group of Marines, crushing some underfoot and dismembering the rest with his viciously sharp claws. He took aim at the flaming banner that now hung from the façade of the keep.

"No!" exclaimed Sergeant Jarfur. He sprinted through the whirling melee and plunged his sword into Bigkrusha's thigh.

The Warlord howled in pain and his shots went wide, blowing the wall apart. The flames were creeping up the chalice symbol on the banner. Fabric curled and warped in the intense heat.

Jarfur withdrew his blade and slashed again, but found its path blocked by a plate of armour. He stepped back for a third attempt and the Warlord's fist hit him directly in the chest. The force of the blow picked him up and threw him backwards. He slammed down at the base of the wall.

Captain Grimfist looked from him to Farus, who was fighting nearby.

"Farus!" he cried. "Go to Jarfur!"

"Yes, brother!" Farus answered.

He set about carving his way towards Jarfur's unmoving form. Attacks came at him from all sides but he blocked and parried them with expert skill. A particularly imposing Ork strode towards him, shouldering its smaller brethren aside.

The older Farus reached back through time and broke the boundaries of the projection. He ripped the Ork's mind open and exposed its innards to the Warp. Its eyes exploded and its corpse fell to the ground in a spray of blood.

His younger self gave him an appreciative nod.

With a scream a Marine landed next to him, his limbs twisted into inhuman shapes by the force of the Warlord's infamous claws.

He pressed on, cutting through two more of the greenskins.

Jarfur was picking himself up.

"Sergeant!" Farus shouted.

"I am alright, Librarian," Jarfur said.

Farus indicated the tears in Jarfur's breastplate.

"You are badly hurt," he said.

"I can . . ." Jarfur began, and three shots from an Ork machinegun hit him in the chest.

Two were stopped by his armour but the third smashed through into his ribcage. He jolted and coughed, blood dripping from his mouth to the ground.

"Librarian . . ." he coked.

"Emperor damn it!" Farus cursed.

He threw his sword into an enemy neck and took Jarfur by his shoulders. With all his strength he dragged him up the staircase to the wall, which was empty save for a couple of Marines firing down into the confusion in the courtyard. Farus propped Jarfur up against a pile of crates and inspected his injuries carefully.

"What is the use?" Jarfur spluttered. "Leave me."

"Never," Farus said.

"We are all dead already," Jarfur said. "What do I matter? Just put a weapon in my hand."

Farus considered his options. In the corner of his vision he could see Kandras desperately duelling with Bigkrusha, exchanging blows over the bodies of his slain Knights.

Grimfist was next to him, protecting him from the encroaching Orks.

Farus nodded and took up a pair of discarded swords. He handed one over and kept the other for himself, then helped Jarfur up. They climbed to the top of the wall above the gateway. Bigkrusha was directly below them.

"The Emperor protects," Farus said, standing on the edge.

Jarfur did the same.

"For the White Knights," he said. "They will remember this."

"Always," Farus promised.

In perfect synchronisation they dropped from the parapet and onto the Warlord's back.

Bigkrusha yelped and thrashed around as their weapons tore into his shoulders, ripping through veins and arteries.

Kandras took the opportunity to dart forward with a lightning strike, opening a long cut along the Warlord's thigh and then jumping up onto his knee to stab at his chest. His power sword flashed brightly in the shadows beneath the xenos' neck when it found its mark.

Mortally wounded, Bigkrusha staggered over to the wall and smashed heavily into it. The impact dislodged Farus and Jarfur, giving him the time he needed to close a meaty hand around Kandras' legs and lift him into the air.

"Master!" Grimfist cried, and threw his blade as hard as he could.

It buried itself up to the hilt in the Warlord's temple, hissing as the field at through his brain. He recoiled, dropped Kandras and pointed his machinegun directly into his face.

"Knowledge and faith," Kandras whispered, and the bullets blew his skull apart.

"Kandras!" Grimfist shouted.

Bigkrusha's life left him and he fell backwards.

"He is gone," Farus realised, climbing to his feet.

"It cannot be," Grimfist insisted.

He swung round, his vision blurring. The White Knights' standard was all but burned. Flames ate hungrily at the remains. Around him lay the bodies of countless Orks. They had died in numbers he had once thought too huge to be imagined.

An explosion rang out behind him and a Thunderhawk gunship swooped through the smoke of battle. It was painted dark blue with a white letter U on the side, in markings he and the three projections instantly recognised as belonging to the Ultramarines Chapter. As they watched, it touched down in the centre of the courtyard and its front ramp swung open.


	35. S4 E8: Chapter Master

Series IV - Revelations

Episode VIII - Chapter Master

 _Gyrus now knows the terrible truth behind the events of Grimfist's rise to Chapter Master: on the planet Husal, the inexperienced Master Kandras led the White Knights to what he believed would be a last stand. His reckless leadership, predicted by Dominicus Nero, led the Inquisition to reject the Knights' final plea for help. This stunning rebuke of their legitimacy and honour has been hidden from the Chapter's members ever since._

"We did not deserve saving," Grimfist said, flatly.

Gyrus stared at him. He still could not believe what he had witnessed.

Along with Farus, they were now standing in what looked like the training centre aboard the _Glory of Russala_. Pairs of Marines sparred back and forth all around them, oblivious to their presence. The empty darkness of space was visible behind the arched windows.

"The Deathwatch refused your request for aid," Gyrus muttered to himself. "It seems beyond implausible. They are honour bound to us. Our traditions and theirs are intertwined. Think of all the occasions throughout our history when they have gladly fought by our side – the liberation of Cyprides, the raid on Kar Duniash, the . . ."

"Sanctus is well aware of our close ties with the Deathwatch," Farus said, coldly.

"Let him make his point," Grimfist ordered, but Gyrus wasn't going to let the sarcasm go.

He turned to Farus.

"I am sorry," he said, "But I find that a little rich. Obviously I'm aware of what Master Grimfist knows. Forgive me if reminding him that his _idol_ Nero brought unspeakable shame upon our Chapter is too much for you."

"It is too much for me, yes," Farus snapped. "You are in no fit state to judge us. Yes, I believe the future holds great things for you, but you will never realise them if you do not fully understand the true meaning of leadership. It involves doing what is right, not what is correct."

"Was Nero right to choose Kandras as Chapter Master?" Gyrus demanded.

"Neither option was desirable," Grimfist said, before Farus could provide a barbed comeback. "Both of us lacked Deathwatch service. Whatever happened, he would be taking a risk. He knew as much. Perhaps he chose Kandras in the hope that someday a snub from the Deathwatch would lead to his downfall rather than mine."

"What a comforting thought that is," Gyrus snarled. "Nero's political manoeuvring got the better of the two Astartes killed. It couldn't had a happier ending."

"And what would you have done?" Grimfist said, sharply.

Gyrus opened his mouth to reply, but no words came to his mind. Suddenly the tables had been turned on him. He found himself with no answer.

"Dominicus Nero faced an impossible choice," Farus said, diplomatically. "He did what was best in the circumstances. Not only that, but in doing so he made Sanctus aware of the issues that the Chapter would go on to face. And after Master Kandras' death, an opportunity arose to deal with them."

As he spoke, the doors to the training centre hissed open and Sergeant Jarfur strode through. His golden teeth flashed in the glow from the strip-lights hanging from the ceiling.

"Sanctus!" he roared. "Where are you?"

A group of Marines quickly formed around him, all keen to see what was happening.

First Company Captain Sanctus Grimfist shouldered his way through the crowd. He stopped in front of Jarfur and folded his arms.

"Sergeant," he said.

"This has gone on for long enough, Sanctus," Jarfur growled. "It's time to finish it."

"I have quite forgotten what we're fighting about," Captain Grimfist told him.

Jarfur laughed.

"Well," he said, "Why don't you explain it to our audience? Ia m sure they'd be happy to ridicule your behaviour along with me. We have no Chapter Master! Ever since Kandras fell on Husal this place has been a shambles, and you know it. How long are we to go on like this? Kandras would never have wanted the Knights to fall from grace."

"How would _you_ know what Kandras would have wanted?" the younger Farus said, pushing through the assembled Marines. "He never cared for you, Jarfur. Never."

"If only you knew," Jarfur said. "If he cared so little, then why did he name me as his successor before he died?"

Whispers ran through the crowd.

"Lies!" Grimfist cried.

"I speak only the truth," Jarfur retorted, reaching into a pocket in his tunic. "See for yourself."

He took out an old, tattered copy of the Lexicon. As was customary, a few pages of Epistles had been left blank for the owner to fill with their own exploits. They were covered in cursive handwriting in Kandras' hand. Jarfur cleared his throat grandly and read aloud.

" _Let it be known_ ," he said, " _That I, Chapter Master Kandras of the White Knights, do name Sergeant Jarfur of the First Company as my sole successor in the event of my death. I do this with a heavy heart, for I understand that my predecessor would have made a different choice. But he also chose to entrust his Chapter to me, and with that power comes the duty to wield it. I will not be bound by his decisions any more than he can be bound by mine_."

"Give that here," the young Farus said.

Jarfur held it out.

Farus wrenched it from his grip, cracked its spine and examined it closely.

"Sanctus," he said, "Much as it pains me to admit it, this seems genuine."

"Of course it is genuine," Jarfur said. "You've both been blinded by your own ambition. I am the rightful leader of this Chapter, and now I can prove it."

"It makes no sense," Captain Grimfist admitted. "Why would Kandras choose you over me?"

"Is it not it obvious?" Jarfur sneered. "You have no standing, Sanctus _Grimfist_."

Gyrus took a breath as the meaning of Jarfur's insult sank in. All along he had been seeing the situation as a contest for power, but now he realised it was truly concerned with class. Grimfist's inexperience wasn't the only reason Kandras had been chosen; it was also because he was highborn. Every single Chapter Master in recorded history had met three requirements: they had all served somewhere in the First Company, completed a term with the Deathwatch and been born to one of Russala's Five Houses. Kandras had met two of those criteria. Grimfist had only met one, at least in the eyes of his peers. What Gyrus now knew was that he had been born a member of House Aquilinus, most prestigious of all, but that honour had been stripped from him. It was a tragic turn of events, and one that Nero had been very sensitive to.

"And where is _your_ surname?" Captain Grimfist said, angrily.

"If I had one, you would know it," Jarfur said. "And the whole Imperium would know it too. The Chapter cannot sink any further. Kandras lacked a surname, and so do I. But at least I could earn mine back as Chapter Master. At least it would mean something."

"You want a name that means something?" Grimfist said. "Fine. How about . . ."

"Sanctus," the younger Farus interrupted. "You cannot tell him."

"Tell me what?" Jarfur teased. "How much you learned during your life in squalor? Or is that why you want to be Master, so you can drag the Knights through the mud where you were born?"

Grimfist punched him in the face.

The force of the blow sent him reeling away, his nose broken.

He wiped the blood from his upper lip as his Larraman cells quickly closed the wound.

"So be it," he said. "We shall have a duel. Consider that a challenge."

"Where and when?" Grimfist asked.

Jarfur's bloody face set.

"Right here," he said. "Right now."

"Very well," Grimfist agreed. "But only seconds, no audience. You made this personal."

"I need no second," Jarfur boasted.

"Show the honour you claim to have," Grimfist said. "Allow me mine."

"That is fair," he admitted, and raised his voice. "Leave us, Astartes!"

The other Marines began filing out of the training centre, lining up to fit through the doors.

Grimfist stalked off with Farus behind him. They had left their weapons in the lockers nearby. There was little preparation needed; they would be duelling in tunics.

"You really intend to fight him," Farus said.

"Of course," Grimfist replied. "And I will win."

"The Chapter will come round, Sanctus," Farus advised. "We all know Nero truly wanted you to succeed Kandras."

"If that is true, then why did he put Kandras in charge?" Grimfist pointed out. "What he wanted was a contest, an opportunity for me to put into place some of the advice he gave me." He shook his head admiringly. "Even now, he is teaching me lessons."

"What do you mean?" Farus asked.

Gyrus could guess what was about to happen. He'd had his suspicions for a while, but his theory had seemed too outlandish. With every word he became surer that he was right.

"Remember what Nero told me," Grimfist said, quietly. " _There is always another way, another choice. When the time comes, Sanctus, I hope you will do what is right, not what is correct_."

Farus nodded slowly.

"Nero guessed Kandras would not choose you to succeed him," he realised. "And that the decision would be out of his hands."

"So instead," Grimfist said, maliciously, "He put it in mine."

He looked over to where Jarfur stood, cleaning the blade of his sword.

"You were not Kandras' protégé, Sanctus," he called, tauntingly, "And you will not be his successor. I will make sure of it."

"What are you going to do?" Farus asked, under his breath.

"What is right," Grimfist returned.

He stood and strode over to Jarfur.

"Knowledge and faith," he said, honourably.

"Knowledge and faith," Jarfur dutifully recited, and dropped into a fighting pose.

Grimfist did the same and the two of them circled each other warily. Finally, Grimfist darted forward with a downward slash.

Jarfur dodged to one side, parried the blow and jabbed under his defence.

Grimfist was too fast for him. He let the attack go wide then swung at Jarfur's legs.

The Sergeant jumped over the swipe and lashed out with his sword, drawing a thin but clear line of blood across Grimfist's chest.

Silence fell while they both caught their breath.

"Well fought," Grimfist panted, extending a hand.

"And you," Jarfur replied, as he shook it. "I suppose the matter is settled."

Grimfist shook his head.

"Not yet," he said. "You forget that I remain First Company Captain, and you remain under my command. Is that not that right?"

Jarfur's face paled.

"But I won the duel," he said.

"Did you?" Farus replied. He glanced at Grimfist. "I will let the record show that you were victorious, _Chapter Master_."

Jarfur couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"No!" he shouted, defiantly. "The victory was mine!"

"Where is the proof of that?" Farus challenged him. "No-one saw it."

"Then I shall write it," Jarfur announced. He gestured to Kandras' old copy of the Lexicon, which Farus still held in his hands. "I shall commit my deeds to the history books for all to see. The Epistles will tell of the day I bested Sanctus and took my rightful place as leader of the Chapter."

Farus calmly tore out the page where Kandras had written his note and screwed it up.

"They would," he said, "Only as Chief Librarian, I am responsible for reviewing their content, and that is not what happened."

"You are _not_ Chief Libarian," Jarfur growled.

"I just received the promotion," Farus purred. "Is that not right, Sanctus?"

Grimfist nodded slowly.

"I see," Jarfur said, resignedly. "You are merely his puppet."

"All that matters," Grimfist replied, levelly, "Is that the Knights get the Master they deserve. Forget Kandras – we need someone worthy of assuming Nero's mantle and finishing the work he started. You know that it was always intended to be me. You had no right to demand the office."

"You . . ." Jarfur said.

"Sanctus has spoken," Farus cut in. "He will be the new Master."

"Just like that?" Jarfur said. "He promoted himself?"

"And I demoted _you_ ," Grimfist said. "I've had enough of your insolence, Jarfur. You will be my Third Company Captain. Now go and do whatever it is you do when there's no-one around to listen to your pathetic mewling."

Jarfur glared at him, and as he did so he realised there was absolutely nothing he could do. Without another word he turned on his heel and strode away.


	36. S4 E9: The Schism

Series IV - Revelations

Episode IX - The Schism

 _Gyrus is reeling from the revelations shared with him by Master Grimfist and Chief Librarian Farus, revelations that have opened a gulf between them. He now understands that the Master took his rank through coercion and through force, when it rightly should have gone to Jarfur. For all his history with the deceased Third Captain, he cannot deny that what Grimfist did was wrong. And he is not the only one._

Once again, Gyrus was below decks aboard the _Last Hope of the Weary_. This time he had found his way down to the engine rooms at the request of Curatio Lonnar, though he did not know the purpose of their meeting. He had followed a winding path along cramped corridors and passageways until he found the Master of the Forge hard at work in an auxiliary control room. It was a small, airless space with a row of windows along one wall overlooking the injection chamber of the _Weary_ 's primary reactor. Beams of searing light crackled past as matter and antimatter collided.

Lonnar was connected to one of the terminals, interfacing directly with the ship's systems.

"My lord," Gyrus said.

Lonnar pulled the plugs out from the base of his neck and looked at him.

"Greetings, Astarte," he nodded. "You came. Part of me expected you not to."

"When a fellow Apostle makes a request, I do not take it lightly," Gyrus told him.

He smiled.

"You've only been a member of our little clan for a few days," he pointed out. "That's not much time in which to learn our ways."

"Master Grimfist had been teaching me," Gyrus explained.

"I thought you two weren't talking to each other," Lonnar said, pointedly.

Gyrus did not reply. He was right, but he had intended to keep their falling out a secret.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

Lonnar reached up and tapped his forehead.

"Not much gets past me," he said. "And the same goes for Captain Harlus. Serve in the Apostles as long as we have and you earn a litany of sources throughout the Chapter. Mine tell me that you and the Master are engaged in a dispute right now."

"It matters not," Gyrus said. "And in any case, it is only temporary."

Lonnar turned away from the control panel with a quiet chuckle. He walked over to the windows and examined the injection chamber. The blinding glow of the collisions threw his features into stark contrast every few seconds.

" _Thus do we invoke the Machine God_ ," he recited, reverently. " _Thus do we make whole that which was sundered_."

"Precisely," Gyrus agreed. "We will be made whole once more."

Lonnar did not turn around.

"Sanctus Grimfist is a fine warrior," he said. "He has led this Chapter to triumphs across the Sagittarius Arm and earned the reputation he carries. But he is not a warrior first and foremost. Rather, he is a natural born politician."

Finally he looked back at Gyrus.

"I know what he told you," he said.

Gyrus' eyes widened.

"How can that be?" he asked, incredulously.

"I have served this Chapter for hundreds of years," Lonnar explained. "Since before Grimfist ascended to the rank of Master. His predecessor and I were once very close."

"Kandras related the story to you?" Gyrus said.

"And more," Lonnar replied. "In the days before Husal he often sought my counsel. Such is always the way. People believe we Techmarines can be trusted because we are not as much a part of the Chapter as they are. But just because we barely participate in their internal politics does not mean we take no interest in them. Kandras understood that."

"So he chose to share his thoughts with you," Gyrus said.

Lonnar nodded.

"I liked Kandras," he said, honestly. "Many Knights have the wrong impression of him. He was dealt a bad hand and he did the best he could with it. Even though he knew Sanctus was truly of noble birth, he could not act on that information or risk revealing a secret that had long been hidden. When you consider that fact, Jarfur was really his only choice of successor."

"Jarfur never served in the Deathwatch," Gyrus said.

"Neither had Kandras when he took the rank," Lonnar reminded him. "Although in fairness, it did prove his undoing. In any case, shortly before the invasion of Husal he sought me out and confided in me. He told me he had selected Jarfur, that he had written it in Epistles to make it official. When Sanctus was announced as Chapter Master, I knew something was afoot."

Gyrus frowned. His stories seemed to conflict.

"But if you realised that Grimfist had actually lost the duel," he said, "Why praise him before me now? Why call him a natural born politician? And why accept the place in the Apostles?"

Lonnar shook his head.

"Gyrus," he said, "I do not consider Sanctus responsible for the tragedies that currently befall our Chapter. Their roots reach back a long way, and none of them were initiated by him."

"He is our leader," Gyrus said. "Who else would have done it?"

Lonnar gave a wry smile.

"You tell me," he said.

Gyrus said nothing while he considered their conversation.

Humming an old hymn to himself, Lonnar crossed to the quarters that adjoined the control room. He set about preparing mugs of recaff. Steam hissed and water bubbled as it brewed. Eventually he returned with a steaming drink in each hand.

"Here," he said, handing one over.

Gyrus took it.

"Thank you," he replied.

Lonnar took a sip and smacked his lips.

"Well?" he prompted. "I'm sure you've figured it out. After all, you are the White Knights' rising star . . . but then, you might not like what you find."

"Farus," Gyrus said, quietly.

Lonnar had a serious expression on his face.

"Very good," he purred. "Go on."

"When I think about it, it seems obvious," Gyrus said. "So obvious, in fact, I cannot believe it has taken me this long to realise it. None of this would be happening if not for him. He was the one who suggested Consus Aquilinus' betrayal be purged from the records."

"He was," Lonnar said. "And just think of the events that set in motion. Consus turned to Chaos, so Sanctus lost his ancestral surname, so he joined a gang, so Kandras could not choose him for Master despite what he knew, so Jarfur duelled him, so he changed the result."

"It was not him who changed it," Gyrus told him. "Farus suggested it and orchestrated it."

"Then there is the answer," Lonnar said, grandly. "The answer to all our questions. You need not wonder any longer why the Inquisition have set their sights on us. For two and a half centuries we have been plagued by infighting and betrayal."

He stepped closer to Gyrus, his face wreathed in the rising smoke from the recaff, his hushed tones hurried and urgent.

"And when they came to our door looking for someone to blame," he whispered, "There was only one candidate with both the knowledge and the motive to testify to them. Only one Astarte knew the full story of what had happened and was willing to tell it."

"Jarfur," Gyrus breathed.

"Third Captain Jarfur," Lonnar said. "Who was murdered at the hand of someone within the Chapter itself. Who do you think that might be?"

There was a tense pause.

"This is ridiculous," Gyrus said. "Surely it cannot be . . . I mean, it seems . . ."

"Of course it _appears_ impossible," Lonnar said. "But when you consider it for any length of time it all begins to make sense. Rather chillingly, wouldn't you say?"

"You joined the Apostles to keep an eye on Farus," Gyrus realised.

"Well observed," Lonnar replied. "And I did not like what I saw. For a long time he has acted as puppet-master, and when his house of cards was threatened, he took action to ensure it stayed standing. His loyalty is not to our Chapter. It is only to himself."

Gyrus handed his recaff back.

"I cannot discuss this any further," he said. "It is heretical."

"Farus is heretical," Lonnar snapped. "This is one of the few worthy battles the Knights have left to fight. The saga of Nero and Kandras and Grimfist can only have one ending. Farus must be exposed for what he is."

"No," Gyrus said, firmly. "I need time to think."

"You know it is true," Lonnar insisted.

"I am leaving," Gyrus said, as he made for the door. "I am sorry, Master, but I must."

"Do as you will," Lonnar told him. "But do not forget this conversation."

Gyrus didn't know if he ever could. He strode down the corridor, feeling angry and intrigued at the same time. Much as he hated to admit it, everything they had discussed did make perfect sense. Suddenly he was seeing everything Farus had done for him in a new light. Every kindness he had showed, every piece of advice he had given, every throwaway remark was now just another form of manipulation, another way of getting ahead. All at once he wanted to know more and to forget everything he had already learned. It was too much.

The aides in the lift hurriedly stepped aside when they saw him approaching.

He hit the button and waited patiently while the compartment rose through the _Weary_ 's decks. It was time to follow up on a lead he'd been given some time ago.

Across the reception chamber from the lift shaft was the ship's Reclusiam, the domain of Chaplain Aurelius and the place where he had been formally gifted Maelstrom. That ceremony seemed a lifetime ago now. He emerged into the vaulted hall and looked around. Everything was bathed in dappled, multi-coloured light from the stained glass window looking out into space at the far end. Adjoining the large chamber was an intimate, wood-panelled office where the Chaplain himself worked. The only light inside came from the projected screens of the cogitator that sat on the desk.

Aurelius was there now, sitting behind his desk and sifting through a stack of parchment.

"Come in," he called, hearing Gyrus' knock.

Gyrus stood before him.

"Chaplain," he said. "Master Grimfist directed me to you, but that was some time ago. I hope you are still willing to aid me."

"Ah yes," Aurelius remembered. "He told me you received some kind of message, one deserving of my attention. I have the translation stored on my cogitator. Rest assured I have not listened to it. That right is yours alone."

"Can you synch it with my suit?" Gyrus asked.

"My pleasure," Aurelius said, with a smile.

He brought up a holographic screen between them and entered a few commands.

"It is done," he said. "It will be waiting for you in your rooms. May I ask where the message originated from?"

"I received it during a ceremony," Gyrus told him.

Aurelius laughed knowingly.

"There is no need to conceal the truth from me," he said. "I know all about your initiation into the Apostles. Chief Librarian Farus is a very close friend of mine."

Normally the explanation would be considered unremarkable, but given all he had just heard, Gyrus found it a little unnerving. He folded his arms.

"You once told me a true Knight has no friends," he said. "Only allies and rivals."

"Come now," Aurelius chided him. "We both know that cannot be strictly true. Take your friendship with brother Lucius as an example. I have heard that the two of you have grown close. You duelled him, I believe, and he respected you for heeding the result."

"Lucius and I are close, yes," Gyrus admitted. "But only because it is in our best interests. And in any case, how would you know a thing like that?"

"I have read his medical records," Aurelius said. "He holds you back. He is too impulsive." He sighed. "But then, you of all people would see nothing wrong with going against the Lexicon."

Gyrus leaned over the desk.

"I did not come here so you could insult my honour," he growled. "And perhaps you should consider the Astartes you associate yourself with before accusing _me_ of disloyalty."

"What are you insinuating?" Aurelius said, as he rose to his feet.

"You know perfectly well," Gyrus said.

They stared each other down.

"Fine," Gyrus said. "I shall be the Marine you want me to be. I am going to be in the training centre in half an hour's time. Join me there and we can settle this with a duel."

"Gyrus . . ." Aurelius began.

"Do you accept?" Gyrus interrupted him.

He tilted his head up slightly.

"I am bound to," he said. "But I must say, it is inadvisable."

"Then show me," Gyrus retorted.

He gave Aurelius no chance to answer. In a second he had reached the door and slammed it violently shut behind him. Silence fell.

A tall, lanky figure emerged from the shadows at the back of the chamber.

"Chaplain," Farus said. "You let your temper get the better of you."

Aurelius turned to him.

"Do you not see how he speaks of you?" he said. "He is unbelievably disrespectful."

"It makes no difference what he believes," Farus replied. "He may be an Apostle now, but without the support of the Chapter Master he is nothing. Sanctus is my closest ally. That will not change." He pointed to the door. "You should go after him and apologise for your remarks."

"Why should I?" Aurelius said.

"He now knows you and I share a bond," Farus told him. "If he dislikes you, he will come to dislike me as well. The situation is tenuous and we cannot afford to take risks."

"I suppose you are right," Aurelius said, and made for the door.

Farus waited until he was gone then crossed to the sideboard by the panelled wall. He opened one of the cabinets with the creak of antique hinges. Inside it was a safe with a keypad to open it. It took a moment to authenticate his code and then the bolt slid back from its housing with a dull clunk. The door swung open at the press of a button.

Inside it sat the Casket of Tears. It rested on its beautifully decorated curving limbs. The dim light gleamed off the wooden patterns engraved into its golden lid.

Farus took it out and held it up.

Thousands of light-years away, across the barriers between realities, ancient and dark forces began to stir. They sensed a mind reaching out towards a conduit of their power. With cruel, twisted laughter they homed in on it, ensnaring it with their corrupted wills. From the casket came a psychic whisper, an incantation so quiet it was almost silent.

And Farus heard it.


	37. S5 E1: To the Victor

Series V - The Fall

Episode I - To The Victor

 _Now the true extent of the Chapter's dark history has been revealed, and Gyrus has found himself at the crux of a difficult issue: does he bury what he knows in hope of future glory, as Chapter Master Sanctus Grimfist and Chief Librarian Farus expect of him, or does he act upon it and retaliate against Farus and his ally Chaplain Aurelius, as Master of the Forge Curatio Lonnar is encouraging? And what of the accusations of murder being whispered in the shadows? Do they need to be brought into the light?_

The bedchamber was dark and gloomy. Curtains had been drawn over the windows to shut out the light from Aurora III. A shape lay under the covers, twisted onto its side.

Apothecary Narre entered the room and looked around. He walked over to the bed.

"Brother," he said, gently.

Gyrus' advanced metabolism quickly kicked in and he went from sound asleep to wide awake in less than a second. He sat up, pushing the covers away.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"No more than ten minutes since you summoned me," Narre said. "Holy Terra, brother, but you look tired. Are you sure you should not just go back to sleep?"

Gyrus groaned.

"I am fine," he said, firmly.

"Do you want to get up?" Narre said. "You can stay there if you would like."

"I have a prior arrangement," Gyrus explained. "I was simply catching up on some sleep until you arrived. Let us talk."

Narre stepped back.

Gyrus climbed out of the bed, crossed to the closet set into the wall and took out his embroidered tunic. He slipped it over his shoulders.

"Why did you call me here?" Narre said. "Can I help you in any way?"

"Yes," Gyrus nodded, turning to him. "I have arranged to duel Chaplain Aurelius."

"That is inadvisable," Narre warned. "What if you win?"

"I intend to," Gyrus said. "Would you expect less from me?"

"But yet it would constitute a massive insult to his honour and undermine his position within the Chapter," Narre pointed out. "Think of the consequences if . . ."

"His honour be damned!" Gyrus cried, and tore the curtains from their coasters.

Light flooded through the room. Shadows flickered over the far wall as Gyrus swung his arms wildly, clenching his fists in anger.

"I want to show him up!" he shouted. "I want to make him feel pathetic, like the coward he is! I want to make him pay for ever going behind my back!"

Narre raised his hands in surrender.

"Gyrus," he said, warily, "Remain calm. Let me get you a drink."

He crossed to the adjoining bathroom and poured a glass of water from the tap.

Gyrus took it from him and downed it in one, then wiped his mouth.

"You are in no fit state to be duelling anyone," Narre said, softly.

"Oh, you just say that to protect me," Gyrus said.

"I mean it," Narre insisted. "I would not even let you face the Tau in your condition. Tell me about what ails you."

Gyrus looked up at him, and Narre could see the worry and the hatred etched into his face. The grille in his cheek was suit tight and his breathing was shallow.

"Why did you do it, Apothecary?" he said, hoarsely.

"Do what?" Narre frowned.

"The Chaplain had a file," Gyrus said. "A file about Lucius. He used it as ammunition against me, that little . . ."

He shattered the glass in his hand into a million pieces.

Narre did not move.

"What did the file say?" he said.

"You tell me," Gyrus snapped, and heavily sat back down on the bed. "After all, you were the one who sent it to him."

Narre simply stepped forward, leaned down and kissed him gently on the forehead. For a few moments neither of them spoke. Each could feel the connection to the other, genetic and emotional. It was a meaningful moment.

"Brother," Narre whispered. "You know I would never do anything like that."

"I know," Gyrus admitted, quietly. "But how else could he have gained access to that file?"

Narre considered the question for a moment.

"Farus," he said. "I gave him my credentials."

"Why?" Gyrus said.

"He is the Chief Librarian, brother," Narre reminded him. "When he gives me an order, I do not bat an eyelid. He came to me a few weeks ago asking after some Astartes. Lucius may have been one of them; I do not remember. I shared my credentials with him so he could access the Apothecarium's databanks. It would have been easy for him to copy entries and send them to anyone he wanted. I cannot think of any way Aurelius would come to have one."

Gyrus reached over to the shelf by the bed and handed over the auspex that sat upon it.

"Check for me," he said.

Narre took it from him and activated it. He selected the path to unlock the access records and entered his username and password. There was a short silence while he studied the logs.

"The evidence is right here," he said. "He hit it in plain sight."

"What does it say?" Gyrus said.

"Not long after he discussed it with me," Narre read out, "Farus took a copy of Lucius' file and had it forwarded to Aurelius. More troubling is that he edited the Chaplain's version after your first mission to Ulis. He flagged Lucius as an associate of yours."

Gyrus' eyes widened.

"You know what this means, Narre," he said.

"I do," Narre said, grimly. "They are keeping tabs on you. But why?"

Gyrus cleared his throat.

"There is an answer to that question," he said. "And it is not one you will like. Farus – and by association, Aurelius – masterminded Captain Jarfur's murder."

Narre put the auspex down.

"That is a huge claim," he remarked. "It cannot be true."

"Believe me, that was my reaction as well," Gyrus said. "To explain the entire background would take too long, so I will tell you only what you need to know. Before he died, Master Kandras named then-Sergeant Jarfur as his successor, even though his predecessor Nero had intended for Grimfist to hold the position. They held a duel, and Jarfur won."

"But Grimfist is our Master," Narre pointed out.

"Indeed he is," Gyrus agreed. " _Farus_ changed the result."

"Why him?" Narre said.

Gyrus climbed to his feet once more.

"Because he has been masterminding everything," he said, bitterly. "The Master is of noble birth, Narre. He was a member of House Aquilinus, which you will never have heard of because Farus had the records expunged. He has acted as though he is accountable to no-one, and the Master has gone along with him thanks to the depth of their friendship."

"Expunging records is a serious crime," Narre said. "But not nearly as serious as murder. Why would he have Jarfur killed?"

"Jarfur knew all this," Gyrus explained. "Not only that, but he had an incentive to share it. Imagine Inquisitor Orrick's reaction upon finding out that our Master reached his position through deception and lies. We would be declared _excommunicatus_ for sure."

"So he acted out of loyalty to the Chapter," Narre reasoned.

"Yes," Gyrus said. "But no amount of loyalty excuses murder."

"Of course not," Narre said, shaking his head. "I cannot believe this."

"Neither could I," Gyrus said. "And yet it is the truth."

He glanced at the chronometer on the table by the bed.

"I am awaited in the training centre," he said. "Time to show Chaplain Aurelius that there are consequences for people who use my friends against me."

Narre had no argument against him anymore. He had been equally stunned by the revelations, and was equally keen to take the fight to the perpetrators. The meaning of the duel had become clear to him; a victory would be a rebuke to Aurelius and to Farus as well. It would send a message that Gyrus was not willing to let them manipulate the Chapter to their ends.

The door to the hallway hissed open, only to reveal a trio of Guardsmen.

Gyrus stopped when he saw them.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Sir," the Sergeant said, signing the Aquila to him, "My name is Tiris Eran, and these are Troopers Dunwright and Faes. We were on our way to the hangar bay to deploy to Ulis."

"And this interests me how?" Gyrus said. "I have places to be."

"I'm sorry," Tiris apologised. "Word is spreading that you are to duel Chaplain Aurelius. We came to wish you good luck."

"You have something against Aurelius?" Gyrus said.

"He came to inspect the Guardsmen under my command," Tiris said, "And executed two of them for not polishing their boots thoroughly enough. He told us that being presentable was the best means we have to convey loyalty, since we weren't worthy of prayer."

"Did he now?" Gyrus said.

Like every Astarte he had little time for the Guard, but every ally in the fight against Aurelius would be valuable. He smiled down at them.

"Well," he said, "I shall throw a couple of punches for you. In the meantime, I want you all gone. Understood?"

They mumbled their responses and dispersed.

"Guardsmen," Narre scoffed.

"How many people know of this duel?" Gyrus wondered, as they strode along the corridor towards the lift at the end. "Do you think Aurelius is trying to gin up support?"

"It would be quite a blow if he defeated you in front of a large audience," Narre figured.

"Then I'd better not let him defeat me," Gyrus said.

They waited patiently until the lift reached the training centre, then stepped out into the open. Sure enough, it was busy with Astartes and Guardsmen alike. Most of them had gathered around the duelling arena. It took the shape of an oval sunk into the floor of the room, with stepped levels leading down to it for the observers to stand and watch.

Lucius sat nearby. Maelstrom was held across his lap and he was cleaning it meticulously.

"Brother," he said, rising when he saw Gyrus. "Here."

Gyrus accepted the sword from him.

"Thank you," he said, gratefully. "I see we won't be alone."

"I came to back you up," Lucius told him. "Though I do not see the purpose of this duel."

"He had your file," Gyrus said, seriously. "And he attempted to use our friendship against me. Apparently you are too impulsive, and my association with you holds me back."

Lucius' face paled.

"That bastard!" he snarled.

A few heads turned from the crowd.

Gyrus shushed him.

"We are not here to split the Chapter," he said. "To most, this is merely me punching above my weight. They cannot be allowed to understand what this represents."

"Still," Lucius said. "I want to see you bring him down."

"As do we all," Narre agreed, enthusiastically.

The noise from behind them rose to shouting. They turned to quiet the crowd, only to see the lift doors parting. Aurelius entered the room, surrounded by serfs and adjutants. He wore his long, purple Chaplain's robes.

"Gyrus!" he cried.

Silence fell. The ranks parted so they could see each other.

"Sir," Gyrus replied. "Are you prepared?"

"Are you?" Aurelius shot back.

They advanced and descended into the arena.

No-one dared say a word. A few whispers shot through the audience, and fingers were pointed at them as bets were placed. Gyrus knew the Master would never condone the duel, but he was down on Ulis and out of the question for the time being.

One of Aurelius' aides handed him his Crozius Arcanum. It was as much a weapon as it was a symbol of office. The burnished golden Aquila had been adorned with faded scrolls.

"Let us pray," Aurelius said.

They knelt, closing their eyes, and recited their prayers in their heads. Neither wanted to speak the words aloud for fear of insulting the other with verses he deemed unworthy. It was a hugely symbolic fight, and much depended on the outcome.

Eventually Aurelius straightened up and adopted the correct pose.

Gyrus did the same, pointing Maelstrom straight at him. Its point did not quiver in his firm grip. He felt anxiety rise in his chest and pushed it down, filling the voice with anger.

Aurelius stepped forward and swung his sword across Gyrus' front in a long sweep.

Gyrus ducked underneath it.

The fight had begun.


	38. S5 E2: Truth Will Out

Series V - The Fall

Episode II - Truth Will Out

 _The long-running conflict that has been roiling under the surface has finally come to a head, and it has been explosive. Gyrus, a Marine of the Third Company, has boldly challenged Chaplain Aurelius to a duel to defend his honour and that of his friend Lucius. With a crowd assembled and his fellows looking on, Gyrus has been given a chance to strike back at Aurelius, and by extension Farus, the mastermind between every tragedy that has befallen his beloved Chapter._

The fight had begun.

Gyrus quickly felt himself falling into the usual rhythm of battle, but this was not any duel. Every attack was carefully calculated for maximum political impact: if he won by cutting Aurelius' thigh, he would gain no honour. He briefly worried that the Chaplain would let him find his mark and then claim the moral victory, but Aurelius was not stupid.

Instead, he blocked Maelstrom in a screech and a shower of sparks, then stabbed aggressively at Gyrus' chest. It was a textbook manoeuvre designed to test his mettle.

Gyrus blocked it easily. He followed up with something more unusual, an upwards sweep of Maelstrom towards Aurelius' chin, a move that would have cut a Tau head in two.

Aurelius leaned to one side so the blade passed by his cheek, then shoved it away.

Caught off-guard by his sudden vulnerability, Gyrus found himself on the back foot. The Crozius Arcanum was suddenly coming at him from all angles and it was all he could to do keep it from reaching him. One small cut was all that was needed for a victory. As quickly as he could defend one side, Aurelius switched to another in an attempt to tire him out and end the duel quickly. He was having none of it. Waiting until the moment was right, he reached out and caught the Crozius Arcanum as it swung past. His strong arm stopped it in its tracks.

Aurelius punched him in the face. There was a loud clang as his fist met the grille in Gyrus' cheek. Blood splattered onto the floor.

The crowd howled in discontent.

Gyrus was fuelled by his adrenaline and his anger. He ignored the blow and slowly pushed the Crozius Arcanum downwards, then planted a foot on it. With one smooth movement he brought Maelstrom up to slash along the twisted muscles of Aurelius' side.

An eerie silence fell for a short second, then everyone watching burst into applause.

Aurelius was lost in the audience as they flooded the arena.

Lucius was hugging Gyrus, his face split by a broad smile.

Gyrus pushed them all away, not caring for their congratulations, and waded through the press towards the Chaplain. All he wanted was an admission of defeat. He found Aurelius mopping the blood from the cut, even as his Larraman cells quickly stitched it closed.

"Sir?" Gyrus prompted, extending a hand.

"What?" Aurelius panted. "No."

"Will you not do me the honour of losing with grace?" Gyrus said, teasingly.

"You were lucky," Aurelius spat. "That is all. I could beat you a thousand times!"

"Try me," Gyrus boasted.

Aurelius snarled with anger and lunged forward.

Gyrus stepped back into a group of Guardsmen, sending them stumbling and sprawling over the floor. The crowd scattered as the two Marines traded blows with each other.

They danced around the ring in a kind of trance. Both of them were on top form, their weapons little more than shimmering blurs of light. Sparks flew where the blades touched and their power fields fought to cancel themselves out. The duel was over in a flash.

Gyrus slid under Aurelius' grip and pressed Maelstrom to his throat. He could sense the Crozius Arcanum close to his chest but paid it no attention. It was as good a win as any. Baring his teeth, he pressed his blade to the skin. A small but adequate trickle of blood ran down to its pommel.

"Brother," Lucius said, and he snapped out of it. "Do not hurt him."

"Apologies," he said. "Chaplain, I believe I have . . ."

The Crozius Arcanum up flashed past his face, opening a long gash along his front like a slice in a joint of meat. Hot blood spread across his tunic but the pain was dulled by his advanced conditioning. He tried to meet Aurelius' eyes to say something, but the Chaplain was hidden by his serfs and quickly spirited away towards the exit.

Gyrus went after him.

Lucius blocked him with an arm, clearing a few Guardsmen out of the way.

"We need to get you to the Apothecarium," he said.

"That won't be necessary," Gyrus told him. "I need to get to the hangar and take a shuttle across to the _Glory of Russala_."

Recognising that he wasn't going to change his mind, Lucius stepped aside.

Narre followed the two of them over to the lift and they waited until it returned. The doors closed, silencing the onlookers protesting the duel's outcome. None of them said anything while they waited. There was nothing to say.

A few shuttles were waiting in the expansive hangar, refuelling and refitting for more supply runs down to the planet below.

Gyrus led the others towards the nearest one and up the ramp.

"Take us to the _Glory_ ," he barked through the door to the cockpit.

"As you command," the pilot nodded.

The shuttle shook as it lifted off and slid out into the void. Soon the sheer, pockmarked flank of the _Glory_ was visible through the windows, bristling with gun turrets and fortifications.

"You really should not be doing this," Narre said, speaking his mind at last.

"I told you, the injury is not serious," Gyrus said.

"That was not what I meant," Narre told him. "And you know it. You know who you will find in the Master's office. It is not wise to . . ."

"We are beyond wisdom," Gyrus interrupted. "This has gone on long enough."

His quick rebuke silenced them instantly. They could do nothing to change his mind.

The cathedral was busy as ever, but the prayer-servitors and serfs quickly stepped aside when they saw the Marines in their midst. It took them a few minutes to stride along the length of the nave and reach the stairs up to the office at the end. There was a queue of visitors waiting and the doors were guarded by a pair of Knights.

"Brother Gyrus," one of them said, moving out of their way. "You're expected."

"I imagined as much," Gyrus said.

He shouldered the door open.

The argument had already begun.

"This is an outrage!" Second Captain Harlus was shouting. "You cannot seriously say the Chaplain won. It was Gyrus' fight, fair and square."

"You should be punishing the Chaplain," Curatio Lonnar agreed, from beside him.

"Brothers," Gyrus said.

They turned to face him.

Farus pushed back the antique wooden chair and rose from behind the desk. He had a glass of wine in his slim fingers and a cold frown on his face.

"And what are _you_ doing here?" he demanded. "I did not grant you permission to join us."

"So this is how the chain of command works, is it?" Gyrus said, ignoring him. "You can just change the results of duels whenever you like?"

"This has happened more than once?" Lucius asked.

Farus levelled a finger at him.

"You are not of sufficient rank to hear this conversation," he said.

"He stays," Gyrus declared, with a glance at Lucius. "Everything we know is a lie. The Master is not the rightful leader of this Chapter. He duelled Jarfur for the position and lost, but Farus overruled the verdict – and engineered his own promotion in the process."

"I did what I had to do!" Farus said. "It was for the good of the Chapter. Furthermore, Sanctus and I revealed that truth to you in confidence. We trusted you to keep it secret."

"Then you made a mistake," Gyrus said, his voice cracking with anger.

"We imagined you leading the Knights," Farus retorted. "Now I see that we were mistaken."

"Yes," Gyrus nodded. "You imagined that I would keep your dirty secrets, that I would sell my soul for power, and in that regard you _were_ mistaken. I do not know what twisted logic made you think spilling your guts to me was necessary, and I do not care. I set out to hold Chaplain Aurelius accountable for his actions. Now I will do the same to you."

"Aurelius won the duel," Farus insisted. "As the Lexicon says, the only requirement is the drawing of blood, and he achieved that much."

"The Lexicon?" Gyrus said. "The _Lexicon?_ "

"Brother . . ." Narre began, trying to head him off before his anger got the better of him.

Gyrus pushed him bodily aside, sending him stumbling away, and slammed his fist down on the desk so hard that its surface cracked.

"What right do you have to quote the Lexicon to me, you _traitor?_ " he bellowed. "You should not even be uttering its name, let alone invoking it your favour. Where are your loyalty to the Lexicon when you had Jarfur murdered?"

Silence fell.

Harlus gave a heavy sigh.

Lonnar dropped his head into his hands resignedly.

Gyrus only stared Farus down as the Chief Librarian stood and walked around the desk to confront him face to face. Their eyes were locked together.

"Say that again," Farus dared him.

"You heard me," Gyrus said. "You are nothing more than a cold-hearted killer."

Farus pointed past him to the door.

"Get out," he whispered. "Get out of my office!"

"This office is not yours," Gyrus said, flatly.

"Yes it is," Farus told him. "Because our mighty Chapter Master saw fit to put me in command while he was away fighting on Ulis. Now, I am due to meet with Inquisitor Orrick shortly, but until I leave this ship this room is as much mine as it was his. Now leave."

"Just admit it," Lonnar said, speaking up for the first time since Gyrus had arrived.

"I agree," Harlus added. "You stand to gain nothing by keeping your silence like this. Sanctus is bound to give you a softer sentence if you just tell him what you did."

"But that is not the full story," Gyrus went on, maliciously. "Not only did you mastermind Jarfur's murder and Grimfist's rise to Master, you used Apothecary Narre's login credentials to gain access to the Apothecarium's databanks. You sent Lucius' file to Chaplain Aurelius because the two of you were watching me."

Farus nodded.

"At last," he said, "An accusation that makes sense. That much I will admit to, but I only did it because I had you flagged as a prospective candidate for the Apostles. It is routine."

"Then why notify the Chaplain?" Gyrus said.

Farus did not reply. He took a deep breath and held his hands up in submission.

"There is one person who can answer all your questions," he said, "But he is on Ulis. If you truly want to resolve this matter, go and fetch Master Grimfist. He can bring a little clarity to this situation. Until then, I have better things to do than listen to your deranged ranting."

They all bowed their heads.

"Did any of you stop and consider what would happen if I were innocent?" Farus said. "When Sanctus provides my alibi, you will all be in deeper trouble than you can possible imagine. Now, if you will excuse me, I must meet with the Inquisitor and discover the fate of our Chapter. Knowledge and faith, brothers . . . though I find you severely lacking in both."

Without another word, he swept over to the door and departed.

"A fine job," Lonnar said to Gyrus. "I told you not to let it slip."

"He betrayed us," Gyrus said, pointing after Farus. "I am certain of it."

"As am I," Harlus agreed, "but what can we do without proof? He has a perfectly good reason for forwarding those records, and if his alibi turns out to be true . . . Holy Emperor, what have we done?"

"Committed heresy," Lucius observed. "And the Master will not hesitate to punish us."

Narre, who had been listening closely to their conversation, could hold his tongue no longer.

"I am sorry," he said, "But you are all jumping to conclusions. I know I have no place in this, and so I have kept my mouth closed, but I must make myself heard. How can you be so dense as not to see how obvious his guilt is? The evidence is all against him. Every single person to discover these secrets has balked at the thought of Farus as a murderer, and they have all come to believe it. The Master will do the same. How can it be heresy if there is a logical foundation for our beliefs?"

Lonnar smiled.

"You are right, Apothecary," he said. "Thank you."

"Farus was right about one thing," Harlus observed. "We will accomplish nothing without Grimfist here. He is capable of making the decisions we cannot."

"Yes," Lonnar nodded. "I will go down to Ulis and find him."


	39. S5 E3: Hearts and Minds

Series V - The Fall

Episode III - Hearts and Minds

 _The conflicts fomenting beneath the surface of the Chapter have burst explosively into the light. Accusations of treachery and murder are being openly bandied about. Curatio Lonnar has left orbit for the surface of Ulis to find Chapter Master Sanctus Grimfist, who is on a mission to personally track down the commander of the remaining Tau forces. Farus himself, acting as Chapter Master, is bound for Inquisitor Orrick's vessel to discuss the future of the Chapter. And as this drama plays out hundreds of miles above their heads, a squad of Imperial Guardsmen wind their way through the desolate city of Fastunhive._

"I wonder who won," Trooper Faes said, as he tentatively picked his way over the ruined remains of a burned-out hab block.

"Won what?" Sergeant Tiris Eran asked, distractedly.

"The duel," Faes said.

Tiris did not reply.

Trooper Dunwright glanced over at her.

"Between Gyrus and Chaplain Aurelius," he said, helpfully.

"Oh," she said, wiping her forehead to clear her thoughts. It took her a reason to realise that she'd just managed to streak her hairline with dust and grime.

Seeing her, Faes chuckled.

"You fit right in around here," he said.

She smiled back at him and looked around. The squad had been moving from house to house for the better part of three hours, even since descending to the planet from the _Last Hope of the Weary_. After learning that Chaplain Aurelius had executed two of their fellows, General Bannur had assigned them to clearing the city in search of the Tau leader. According to their briefing, the White Knights' Chapter Master had come down to Fastunhive personally to finally track it down. The Guard had been mobilised to do their part.

"Clear ahead," Dunwright reported, as he swung around a corner.

Beyond it was a deserted street, dotted with abandoned cars and piles of rubble. They moved along in as a group, sweeping their las-rifles around to keep every angle covered.

"What a hellhole," Faes muttered.

"I came from a neighbourhood like this," Tiris reminded him. "It's not so bad when there aren't aliens rampaging through it."

Faes frowned.

"You're from the Underhive, Sergeant?" he said. "I didn't know that."

"We Sergeants can be Underhivers too," Tiris said, defensively. "A lot of people from my hab block joined the Guard to get away from the city, to see the galaxy. But even after two tours, I've got to admit it feels good to be back here fighting for my home."

At the end of the street was a public square with a statue of the Emperor at its centre. Plasma bolts and las-fire had chipped away the edges of its flowing stone robes but its head remained undamaged. The lifeless eyes stared nobly into the distance. On the other side, facing into the square, were the remains of a civilian entertainment complex. Flickering holographic signs danced in the gloom. Most of the powerful strip-lights on the underside of the floor above had long since lost power.

"Okay," Tiris said. "I'm moving up."

She jogged across the square to the front of the complex, where a pair of tall doors led to the ruined lobby. They were closed and locked from the other side.

"Keep your eyes open," she sent over the radio, pressing a finger to the bead in her ear. "I'm going to get this done as quickly as I can."

" _We've got movement to the right_ ," Faes warned.

Tiris glanced along the pavement. There was nothing there.

"I don't see anything," she said.

" _My right_ ," he explained. " _Your left_."

She turned.

Figures were moving through the half-light, carrying thin-barrelled rifles and exchanging remarks in a language she didn't understand. She pressed herself against the doors, but they were set only a few inches into the front of the building and she knew the chestplate of her armour still jutted out. The aliens would notice her soon enough.

"Distance estimate," she ordered.

" _Thirty metres and closing_ ," Faes reported. " _We've got clear shots. Permission to fire?_ "

"Denied," Tiris said. "If I can get inside, we can let them pass. Keep me updated."

" _25_ _metres_ ," Faes said.

Tiris leaned all her weight against the doors, which creaked and moved slightly. She leaned out and glanced in each direction, but there was nowhere nearby for her to seek cover. Swearing under her breath, she pushed again.

" _Gue'la!_ " one of the xenos shouted.

A couple of plasma bolts snapped past.

" _Sergeant, these bastards are gonna have a clear shot at you any second_ ," Faes sent.

"Hold fire," Tiris insisted. "Wait until they're right on top of me."

Across the square, the two Troopers had taken cover behind the base of the statue. They checked their las-rifles and aimed carefully at the advancing Tau. It was a matter of moments until the first of the xenos reached Tiris.

"Fire!" Tiris cried.

A withering hail of red needles stabbed through the air, punching holes through the orange armour of the Tau. Several of them dropped instantly.

The rest broke and hurriedly retreated. They had realised that taking out Tiris was worth nothing if it left them exposed. It didn't take them long to find positions of their own and reply with a tirade of blue plasma. The exchange sent weird colours shimmering back and forth between the two sides.

Tiris was practically throwing herself against the doors. They were creaking but refusing to give way, no matter how hard she pushed. She disregarded them for a moment and took stock of her situation. There was nowhere for her to move to.

Several plasma bolts splashed off the ground near the Troopers and one of them splashed up the plating on Dunwright's arm.

He yelped in pain, dropping his las-rifle to the ground.

"Keep them down," he told Faes, as he struggled with the clasps to release the plate before the plasma could eat through it to the skin beneath.

Faes emptied his energy cell and ejected it with a hiss of steam.

"You got it?" he said.

"I got it," Dunwright said, finally ripping the plate off. "Let's go."

He took a moment to take aim once more. Soon enough he had joined in with Faes and they began retaliating against the Tau in earnest. Four of the xenos had been founded and three more were dead, but there were a dozen or so of them left and they had found shelter around the edge of the square.

Another volley of plasma smacked into the base of the statue and forced them to duck their heads down again.

Tiris had given up any thought of moving. She had started clubbing the doors with the butt of her gun, trying to break through the thick wood.

A couple of xenos were advancing bravely towards her, ignoring the las coming their way from Faes and Dunwright.

" _Sergeant!_ " she heard Faes warn over the radio. " _Behind you!_ "

She swung around, rifle up and ready, and shot the first alien in the neck. Hot blue blood splashed up her front as it fell heavily to the ground at her feet.

Its companion stepped back, but a well-placed shot from Dunwright found its mark in its side. As it staggered away, sent off-balance, it wrenched a pulse grenade free from the clasp at its belt and activated its countdown.

"Emperor save me," Tiris prayed, pushing on the doors with all her strength.

Suddenly the bolts were slid back and they swung open.

A hand closed firmly around Tiris' shoulder and dragged her inside.

The grenade detonated, throwing up a cloud of smoke and obscuring Dunwright and Faes' view. When the dust cleared, they saw the doors swing shut once more. Tiris was nowhere in sight.

She was lying on the tiled floor of the lobby inside the building, her limbs stiff and her vision swimming. It took her a few moments to pull herself together and climb to her feet.

Her saviour was waiting for her. He was a tall, slim man wearing a long hooded cloak and what looked like a set of scavenged Guard armour. The markings of several regiments and designations could be seen on different components. In his hands was a las-rifle that he had repaired with tape and wooden splints, fitted with a homemade set of iron sights.

"Civilian," she said, regaining her composure. "Identify yourself."

He reached up and pulled the hood back.

"Arin Sarox," he introduced himself, with a nod. "You?"

"Sergeant Tiris Eran, Ulian 21st," she replied. "Your help is appreciated. What are you still doing here in the city?"

"We can discuss it later," he said. "In the meantime, your squadmates are in trouble."

She followed him across the lobby and up the creaking wooden stairs to the first floor of the building. The windows in the gallery above had been boarded up and they used their rifles to level the wooden planks free from their housings. Leaning out gave them a clear view of the Tau taking cover around the edge of the square. With nothing to block their shots, they sent a volley of las-fire in the xenos' direction.

The Tau quickly broke under the weight of the onslaught.

Dunwright and Faes didn't need Tiris' instructions to know what their next move was. In a second they had emerged from behind the base of the statue and opened up with their own rifles, mowing the Tau down as they attempted to retreat from their positions. Pressing the advantage, they had dispatched the entire group of aliens within a minute or so.

"Nice work, you two," Tiris sent over the radio. "We'll meet you outside the doors."

" _Understood_ ," Faes returned.

She gave a heavy sigh and ejected her rifle's energy cell.

"Well," she said, "I think it's time you answered my questions. Every level of Fastunhive has been evacuated or swept clean by the Tau. What made you stay behind?"

"It wasn't my choice," Arin explained. "I was assigned to one of the later evacuation waves, and the hammer fell before the ships ever got the chance to leave. My wife and son are off-world, and I figured I'd do my part."

"Looks like you're doing an admirable job," Tiris said, nodding to his patchy armour.

"To be honest, I had my doubts about getting this little collection together," he admitted. "I kept meaning to ask if taking plating from dead Guardsmen was against the law, but then I guessed there weren't many Arbites around to enforce the penalties either way."

"That _is_ against the law, if you're still curious," Tiris said. "Not that I care."

He chuckled to himself.

"Nice to meet someone sane," he said. "I've been using a radio I found to listen in on military broadcasts. That General of yours is a piece of work."

"Bannur?" Tiris said. "Oh, you have no idea."

They laughed together for a few moments.

"I have to say," Arin said, "It's very refreshing to have someone to talk to."

"You've been on your own down here all this time?" Tiris asked. "I'm impressed you've made it as long as you have."

"Actually, it's been useful," he said, leading her back over to the stairs so they could meet up with the others. "The Tau tend to ignore individual contacts – they're more interested in the big targets. I've been watching their patrols and memorising their troop movements for a few days now, and I think I'm honing in on their commander's location."

"No kidding," Tiris said, her eyes widening. "That's good thinking."

They crossed the lobby and stepped out onto the street, where the two Troopers were waiting for them. Dunwright was clutching his arm.

"You alright?" Tiris said to him.

"I'm hurt," he muttered. "It's not too bad."

Arin cleared his throat.

"Sergeant Eran," he said. "You might be a man down. You could use another pair of hands."

Tiris gave a slow nod.

"I could," she agreed. "Think you could point us in the direction of the xenos leader?"

"With pleasure," he said. "Come with me."

They followed him along the pavement a short way and down an alley that led along the side of the building, away from the square. Lines of washing had been hung over it as it snaked its way between the towering hab blocks. They were all empty.

Tiris ordered the Troopers to hang back and caught up with Arin.

"You know," she said, "You'd make a pretty good Guardsman."

"It's not for me," he said, resignedly. "There were times I thought of offering my help after the evacuation ended, but I don't like the idea of leaving this world. I've got a family to come back to after the war is over. Much as I want to serve, I keep imagining my wife getting a letter someday. She'd never even get to see my grave."

Tiris turned his words over in her mind for a few moments as they walked along.

"And what about you?" he said, eventually. "Do you have a family of your own?"

She didn't reply for a few moments.

"Don't talk about it if you don't want to," he offered, kindly.

"Thank you," she said. "But it's alright. I had a daughter, but she died during the Tau invasion. It wasn't so far from here, actually."

"I see," he said, thoughtfully.

"That's not all," she added. "The alien that killed her – it's not just _any_ soldier. It's wearing a helmet with a red stripe on the side."

"Alien with a red stripe," he repeated. "Got it. I'll keep my eyes peeled."

"If we find their commander, you won't need to," she pointed out. "I'll make sure it tells me everything I need to know before I put a bolt of las through its eye socket."


	40. S5 E4: Worlds Collide

Series V - The Fall

Episode IV - Worlds Collide

 _As the political drama plays out in orbit, Curatio Lonnar descends to Ulis to find Sanctus Grimfist, the only person who can bring an end to the in-fighting for the time being at least. The infamous General Bannur awaits him, and the General has problems of his own. For the Inquisition's investigation was not the only story the night of Samovar von Guyen's death set in motion. A certain Imperial Guardsman has been struggling with his failings ever since._

The beleaguered Third Company of the White Knights had set up their new headquarters in a bank on Fastunhive's second level. They had doused the blazing fires and propped up the roof of the building with giant ferrosteel girders. Elements of the 21st Ulian Regiment were on station to support their renewed assault on the Tau, who had chosen to make their last stand in the level's central market. It was a huge square ringed by towering buildings that stretched all the way up to the underside of the level above. The bank was a few hundred metres away down a wide avenue that was covered by alien snipers and doubtless full of carefully placed landmines.

Curatio Lonnar's Thunderhawk gunship swept down over an old livestock pen that had been cleared to serve as a landing pad, its screaming thrusters blasting what remained of the grass below.

A few volleys of plasma fire splattered half-heartedly off its flank. They were designed as more of a deterrent than an attempt to bring the mighty gunship down, a reminder that the Tau were monitoring the Imperial forces.

Inside the troop compartment, Lonnar was unconcerned. His armour would protect him, even if the Thunderhawk's armoured plating somehow failed to. He strode down the ramp as it slowly came down on hydraulic pistons. Before stepping onto solid ground he uttered a prayer under his breath, thanking the Machine Spirit for guiding him safely down to Fastunhive from orbit. For a moment the arms of his servo-harness fell still out of respect.

The Guardsmen waiting for him formed a beeline to the bank's rear entrance. They saluted and stood to attention as he passed.

He ignored them, unimpressed by their petty displays of admiration.

General Titus Bannur III was waiting to greet him. He was standing in the bank's cavernous vault, bedecked in all his finery. Even with his smart uniform and the medals shining on his chest, he still felt slightly small looking up into the glowing lenses of an imposing ceramite helmet.

"Curatio Lonnar," Lonnar introduced himself. "Master of the Forge, currently attached to the White Knights' Second Company. I'm here to find Master Grimfist."

"General Bannur, Ulian 21st," Bannur returned. "It's nice to have you here."

Lonnar looked him up and down. He was sick and tired of meeting armchair leaders who had never fired a gun outside a practice range. As he examined Bannur, he wondered how much combat the man had seen. It was probably very little.

"I'm not here to make small talk," he said, flatly. "Where is the Master?"

"He's gone," Bannur said, leading him through the vault and into the main floor of the bank. "Last we heard, he and some soldiers were advancing along the road towards the market square. They were going to clear the way for our armour."

"And what happened?" Lonnar asked, impatiently.

"Well, one of the Chimeras developed electrical trouble," Bannur explained, "And we haven't had the time to fix her up. The other two have their mine flails fitted, but they're not playing ball."

"Playing ball?" Lonnar repeated. He leaned down to Bannur's level with the whirring of his power armour's joints. "Is war a game to you, General?"

Bannur, who had spent years belittling everyone in his presence – Astartes and humans alike – found himself faltering. It didn't help that Lonnar's servo-arms were circling him curiously, as if sizing him up for dinner.

"I . . ." he said. "No, of course not. It's very serious. People die."

"Wrong answer," Lonnar whispered, and drew himself up to his full height once more, nearly eight feet all told. "Because it _is_ a game to me, and one I intend to one."

There was a tense pause.

Bannur laughed nervously.

"I'm sure you won't have any trouble with that one," he said.

"As am I," Lonnar agreed.

"So what are we to do?" Bannur said. "Should I change my plans?"

"You can forget about your tanks, for one thing," Lonnar snapped. "It is no longer needed. I want a Guard escort to help me liaise with your forces as I work to find the Master. The rest of you can remain here and do whatever it is you do when I am not around to scare you into shape."

Bannur ignored the insult.

"Anything else?" he said.

"Try not to get your head shot off," Lonnar advised.

Bannur's eyes brightened.

"I have just the candidate for you," he said. "Wait here for one moment."

"Time is wasting," Lonnar warned.

Bannur stepped past him, giving him a wide berth, and hurried away to consult with his staff.

Lonnar strode out into the deserted livestock pens once more. The Thunderhawk was rising into the air over the landing area, its boosters thundering and gleaming with blinding light. Its nose tilted upwards and it soared away from the combat area towards the open sky beyond the edge of the level. He watched it until it was out of sight, then turned his attention to the cityscape around the bank. A concerted push into the hab-blocks with a small team, he figured, could punch through the thin Tau lines. With the right momentum it could carry on all the way to their headquarters. That would have been the tactic Grimfist used, and so it would be his tactic as well.

"Ah, there you are," Bannur said, coming out of the bank and looking around to check the area was clear. "I've found your Guardsman. Allow me to introduce Corporal Verrel."

Lonnar turned back to him.

Standing beside him was tall and muscular man whose armoured plates barely fitted over his frame. In complete contrast to his physique, however, was his manner. He had his eyes fixed to the floor and his shoulders were low and slumped.

"This is the best you've got?" Lonnar said, sharply.

"I never said that," Bannur reminded him. "But Verrel here knows this part of Fastunhive better than anyone. It's where he grew up."

"Is that so?" Lonnar said, curiously.

Verrel gave a dour nod.

"He'll have to do," Lonnar said. "But if this is some manner of joke, I will return, and you will be held accountable."

Bannur smiled sheepishly.

"Come, Corporal," Lonnar beckoned.

Verrel followed him along the path between the livestock pens. Beyond a row of burned-out stone buildings was a narrow street, overshadowed by a tall, sheer block of manufactorums on the other side. Two trucks had slewed out of their lanes and collided in the chaos of the Tau invasion. Their cargo of meat had spilled across the road and rotted, attracting a swarm of flies.

"So you know this place?" Lonnar said.

"Yes," Verrel said, quietly.

"Can you lead me to the market square though a back route?" Lonnar asked. "It is imperative that their main force does not detect us."

"I can," Verrel said, and trudged away across the road.

Lonnar went with him. His servo-arms curled around him as he went, tasting the air and tapping against any and every surface in reach. They were constantly relaying information back to the implants wired into his enhanced brain. Suddenly, the lenses of his helmet registered a flicker of movement in an open doorway ahead. He caught Verrel by the shoulder.

"Sir?" Verrel said, nervously.

"Have those habs been cleared?" Lonnar demanded.

"The whole area around the bank was swept a few hours ago," Verrel explained, "When we first secured it. Why, did you see something?"

"You weren't thorough enough," Lonnar growled. "Stay here."

He strode over to the doorway and stepped over the threshold. The air was dead and all sound was muffled by the ash through the room. There were a couple of burned sofas and a cracked glass table, but nothing particularly out of place. His foot landed on something with a crunch; it was a picture frame, closed tightly around a family portrait.

On an unspoken command, one of his clamps picked it up.

He examined it for a moment, then set it down on the table and continued his search.

The block was open-plan, with a wide archway leading to the kitchen. Unwashed dishes filled the sink and the door of the refrigerator unit was ajar. Flies buzzed around it.

Lonnar hit them with a controlled blast from his flamer, scorching a few of the flies and scaring the rest of them away.

The flames rippled off something in the corner.

With a roll of his eyes, he issued a mental command and his right-hand clamp punched the Tau stealthsuit so hard its cloaking systems were knocked offline.

It was slammed into the wall and fell limply to the floor.

A tight burst of plasma shots came through from the bedroom, missing him by inches.

He dismissed them as harmless and advanced to find the food swung shut in his face by an alien on the other with. Snarling, he used his clamps to rip it from its hinges and tear it in two.

More bolts came from inside as he moved up. They cut precisely through the air so close to his breastplate that his armour registered the heat as they passed.

There was a xenos on the other side of the bet, and another by the dressed.

Lonnar put a round from his plasma cutter's pistol attachment through the nearest one's skull and stabbed the second in the chest with his welding tool.

It coughed blood and convulsed.

He shook it off.

The only sound was its gargling as it fell back against the wall, and it did not last long. The plasma cutter neatly severed its head of its own accord.

"Room clear!" came a shout.

"I'm here," Lonnar called, so he wouldn't be misidentified.

Sergeant Tiris Eran came in, sweeping her las-rifle around expertly. She was followed by Arin Sarox, in his cloak and his patched-together armour, and Troopers Dunwright and Faes. Corporal Verrel came after them. He kept glancing around to check they were safe.

"Sir," Tiris said, lowering her gun and looking up at him. "I'm Sergeant Eran, Ulian 21st."

"I know your regiment," Lonnar replied. "Are you here on General Bannur's orders?"

"Yes sir," she nodded. "And this is Arin."

Lonnar examined him.

"What regiment are _you?_ " he said, pointedly.

"I'm a civilian," he said. "Arin Sarox."

It took a moment to Lonnar to register the name.

"So you are," he said, tilting his head up slightly. "You're the one who the Chapter Master saved from von Guyen, all that time ago. He spoke highly of your bravery. If not for you, he may not have been found before his injuries overcame him."

"I didn't know that," Tiris said, looking at Arin appreciatively.

"It didn't seem relevant," he modestly admitted.

"Whatever the case," Lonnar cut in, before they could continue, "Perhaps we could join ranks, since we are here in common cause? Corporal Verrel knows this area, or so I am told, but he does not seem like he would prove useful in a firefight."

Tiris gave Verrel a concerned look.

"Don't you know the story?" she whispered.

"Tell me," Lonnar ordered.

"He led the squad to find the Executioner," she said, keeping her voice down, "And got tricked into killing one of his own. It's a miracle he survived."

"Not a miracle," Verrel said, shakily. "He wanted someone to live . . . to send a message."

Lonnar turned to him. As he did so, his clamps reached down from over his shoulders and removed his helmet with the clunk of the heavy unlocking mechanism. He brushed a strand of his shockingly white hair from his eyes with an armoured glaive.

"There is no shame in falling prey to the trickery of Chaos," he said, "No matter what the Ecclesiarchy preach. I have seen finer men than you lose their wits over far less than a confrontation with a being as twisted as von Guyen."

Verrel's eyes met his.

"You are safe now," Lonnar said. "As long as you are under my protection."

"Thank you," Verrel muttered.

There was a pause while they all took stock of the situation.

"Alright then," Tiris concluded. "We'd better get moving if we're to find this Tau commander."


	41. S5 E5: Hammerhead

Series V - The Fall

Episode V – Hammerhead

 _Curatio Lonnar remains in pursuit of Master Grimfist, aided by the motley squad of Imperial Guardsmen that he met not long earlier – and by Arin Sarox, their unlikely ally. They are picking their way through what remains of the city of Fastunhive to find the Tau commander, who Grimfist also seeks. For Sergeant Tiris Eran, their mission has a personal dimension: her daughter fell to the Tau, and she is seeking the whereabouts of the killer._

Lonnar, Arin and the four Guardsmen climbed the rubble piled in the open doorway of the meatpacking plant and slid one by one into the shadows. They moved up with expert swiftness, hugging the wall and keeping their heads down. The plant was large and musty and it smelled vaguely of old blood and offal. Lonnar turned his nose up at the stench as he guided the others along an empty aisle between two rows of pressing machines. There were several conveyor belts running parallel across the packing floor, each one rusted and lying in disrepair. For a short time after the occupation, the Tau had insisted Fastunhive's residents continue life as normal. When the Guard counterattacked, they had massacred everyone in the city and left it little more than a ghost town.

"Anyone ahead?" he whispered, into the radio.

" _Nothing_ ," Trooper Dunwright replied. " _It's clear of xenos_."

A volley of plasma rounds came from somewhere on their right and hit him in the chest, shredding his thin armour and cutting through his lungs. He fell to the ground in a dead heap.

Lonnar snarled as they slid into cover.

"Engaging hostiles!" Tiris cried.

Lonnar activated his helmet's autosenses with a thought. Several targets were marked on the other side of the conveyor belts, moving quickly from side to side. He opened fire on them with short, contained bursts of from his bolt pistol. Flames billowed from the explosions where they hit home.

Most of the xenos were above them in the office cabins suspended from the roof.

Lonnar picked a clear moment and stuck his head out, checking for ways to reach them. There was a flight of steps up from ground level, but he couldn't tell where they came from. Before he could find a way to move up, another few bolts whizzed past. He had to give the Tau credit for their accuracy: considering their targeting optics weren't nearly as advanced as his were, they were generally quite good at suppression. The only problem for them, he realised with satisfaction, was that Astartes were difficult to suppress. Waiting for another brief respite, he let off a volley from the cutter and ducked out once more. As far as he could tell there was a clear run down the side wall to the other end of the plant. He nodded a warning to Trooper Faes, who had moved up to cover him, and sprinted along it.

Plasma flashed off the floor by his feet, some of it glancing from his armoured shins.

To stop for even a second would make him easier to hit, so he carried on at full pelt.

A flurry of shots hit one the grinding machines to his left and sparks flew through the air as it touched off the fuel storage. Roiling balls of fire leaped upwards, spreading thick smoke through the warming air. A wave of heat washed over him, prompting warning glyphs to wink into life on his heads-up display. He cursed to himself and dropped into a slide, slipping out of the xenos' line of sight.

No sooner had he reached the foot of the stairs than a pulse grenade landed before him. In a second his armour had projected the magnitude and radius of its explosion, and his augmetic arms moved to react, curling around his body for protection. His right-hand clamp scooped it up instantly, but the Tau had evidently cooked it and it went off in midair just after he cast it back.

The explosion threw shrapnel towards him, shredding the clamp that had been was holding it.

Pain knifed at his nervous system with the loss: the augmetic limbs were as much a part of him as his own. Pulling himself upright, he realised that the bottom half of the staircase was gone. He was tugged rudely from his thoughts when several high-pitched blasts rang out from above him.

A Tau warrior stood in the doorway to the offices, raining plasma down at him.

He mowed it down with the cutter.

Its precise energy beam passed right through the xenos and demolished one of the offices' support pillars. Their roof groaned ominously and gave him an idea.

"Cover me!" he roared over the radio, advancing towards the struts that kept the offices off the floor. He wrapped his harness' arms around them and tightened their grip, crushing the plasteel girders.

A group of aliens emerged from the stock room and noticed what he was doing.

" _Over there!_ " Tiris barked into the radio.

A well-placed volley of red needles from the Guardsmen dispatched them in seconds.

" _You're clear_ ," Tiris sent. " _We'll come over._ "

With one last push, Lonnar snapped the joists and darted backwards, out of harm's way. The entire block came crashing down with an ear-splitting rumble, shaking the very floor beneath his feet.

A few Tau fell with it. Most of them died on impact but some tried to stand.

He grabbed one angrily and ripped its arms off, throwing it away into the dust clouds. Needles from the Guardsmen's las-rifles flickered in the darkness as they mopped up the remaining aliens. They regrouped by the exit to catch their breath.

"Well fought," Lonnar complimented them. "At this rate, we'll find the Master in no time."

A whole section of the wall gave way, bricks and corrugated steel pushed inwards by an unseen force. An armoured vehicle nosed through, hovering a few feet above the ground on a cushion of blistering air. Its forward-mounted turrets swivelled as if searching for prey. It was a Hammerhead tank, armed to the teeth with weapons. With a snub nose and a raised aft section, it represented the pinnacle of Tau technology. Mounted by the driver's hatch was a huge railgun, a squat rectangular barrel with blue conduits running down its length.

"You didn't say they had armour," Faes said.

"I didn't know," Lonnar answered, and threw himself into a roll.

"Duck and cover!" Tiris cried.

The cannon found its mark and fired.

Faes was dead before he knew what happened, the meat cooked off his bones by the thick bolt of searing plasma.

The Hammerhead moved forward, sweeping its turret from side to side.

Arin ducked out from behind one of the packing machines and opened up on it. The las drew staggered marks up its curved flank.

The quad-barrelled blasters slung underneath the main body rotated to lock on to him

He pulled his head back just in time. The barrage of plasma whipped past him and obliterated another stretch of the building's thick ferrocrete wall.

"We cannot hope to fight it!" Tiris shouted.

"Split up," Lonnar advised.

He ran towards the nearest conveyor belt, dropped to a prone position and crawled under it. A line of shots followed him but they were too late, sparking and dancing off the rubber sheets above his head. He opened a radio channel with his mind.

"Retreat," he barked.

" _Are you sure, sir?_ " Tiris said, dubiously. " _Can you fight that thing alone?_ "

"Perhaps not," Lonnar admitted. "But without wanting to put too fine a point on it, you three will only slow me down. I know you have other places to be."

Crouched behind cover on the other side of the warehouse, Tiris frowned.

" _You mean . . . you know about my daughter?_ " she said, hesitantly.

"I overheard you discussing her with Arin Sarox in the way here," Lonnar explained. "How she was killed by a Tau with a red helmet. There have been reports of a xenos matching that description to the south of this location."

She looked at him across the rubble.

He saw her lips move and heard her voice in his head.

" _Thank you_ ," she said. " _I'll put a shot in its skull for you_."

"Make that two," Lonnar joked. " _Ex machina_."

" _And you, Techmarine_ ," she said.

He rolled to one side, tucking his augmetic arms in close so he could fit beneath the lip of the conveyor, and rose to his feet to empty his bolt pistol's clip.

The Hammerhead's barrel swivelled towards him.

Arin, Tiris and Verrel made a break for the door.

Lonnar waited until they had disappeared safely around the corner, then dropped down once more, allowing the blinding bolt of plasma to flash overhead.

The screaming of the Hammerhead's engines faded slightly and a set of landing gear dropped from hatches in its underside. It settled on the ground.

A group of Tau warriors came after it, fanning out and setting up a perimeter. They signalled to each other with their hands to relay orders down the line.

Lonnar pulled back a little to ensure he wasn't spotted, but he needn't have bothered. As far as the xenos were concerned, the humans were in full retreat.

The constant humming of the vehicle's anti-gravity generators was interrupted by a rhythmic clanking sound. It took him a second to realise that it was boots on the ferrocrete slabs – boots with a lot of weight on them.

"Commander," a voice said, in Gothic. "It's safe."

"Good," Shi'lo replied, its Battlesuit groaning and hissing with its natural movement. "Except I am still picking up a _significant_ heat signature."

Lonnar rolled out again and drew himself up to his full height.

"Who do you take me for?" he demanded. His arms circled him ominously, the cutter whining like a predator ready to taste flesh. "First you speak in my language, then you drop hints. What are you honestly trying to do?"

"Now you show yourself," Shi'lo greeted him. "It was a lure."

"A damned stupid one, xenos," he spat. "I was under the impression you had left the planet."

"I came back when I discovered your Chapter Master was here," Shi'lo explained.

"Then it seems you're both looking for me," Grimfist declared, from above them.

They looked up to see him drop from the roof. He slammed down and cracked the concrete paving beneath his boots. He wore his Terminator armour, even heavier than the Marines' normal suits. The shoulderpads were broad and tall, with the chalice symbol on the right. The left pad displayed the Crux Terminatus, a badge rumoured to contain a shard of the Emperor's own power armour. His thick breastplate was adorned with seals and bore an Imperial Aquila. Held in both hands was his personal thunder hammer, Debello. The weapon fizzled and crackled with arcane energy. The staff section took the form of an arm, fist clenched tightly around the massive square head.

"Curatio Lonnar," Grimfist said, his voice magnified ten times and booming around the factory. "What brings you here, to Ulis?"

"I came to find you, Master," Lonnar said, "And bring you back to the _Glory of Russala_."

"Why?" Grimfist asked. "Is something the matter?"

"Neither of you are leaving!" Shi'lo bellowed. "You will stay and fight like your honour code demands of you!"

They glanced at each other.

"He wants us to kill him," Lonnar joked.

"It would be rude to deny him his final wish," the Master agreed.

He moved faster than any of them could have anticipated. For someone with so much weight on his back, he was remarkably agile. The line of Tau soldiers behind then never stood a chance, swept aside by Debello's mighty arc.

It took the other aliens a moment to recover. They dropped down on one knee and opened up with their weapons.

Plasma fire flashed past on all sides as Shi'lo advanced in Grimfist's direction.

Lonnar stood between them, his armour deflecting the bolts aimed his way. Blue light ricocheted dangerously around the room, sparking off walls and pooling on the ground. The Commander extended the blade mounted on the Battlesuit's wrist and battle was joined.

It swung for Lonnar but the Techmarine caught the sword it with his remaining clamp.

Pistons creaked and struggled to hold it in place.

Lonnar locked the clamp and swooped underneath it, bringing his cutter up and scything through the plates of the Battlesuit's leg.

Shi'lo's visor flashed red and it kicked its opponent off.

Lonnar reeled away, finding his balance just as Shi'lo's free hand smacked into his face. Next thing he knew, he was picked up and lifted bodily three metres into the air.

Shi'lo retrieved an iron bar from the rubble and dropped him, wielding it as a bat. The improvised weapon hit Lonnar full in the chest with so much force that he flew the entire distance of the warehouse, over the conveyors, and slid down to the floor beside a grinding machine.

He climbed to his feet to see the Battlesuit hovering and gliding towards him menacingly. Realising that he didn't have much time, he tasked two of his arms on hacking the grinding machine's circuitry and used the rest to rip a section of corrugated metal off the door and send it spinning at the Commander like a disc.

It clipped the Battlesuit's right arm and then gouged a deep groove in its engines, forcing them to cut out. Shi'lo fell inelegantly onto the conveyor next to Lonnar and reached out to knock him away. Lonnar blocked the attack as he activated the machine.

The belt rumbled reluctantly into life, carrying the Battlesuit towards the whirring blades at the end. Normally used for mashing meat, the thousands of tiny saws were bloody and blunt.

Shi'lo tried to climb off it but Lonnar held it down, forcing it into the cavity shoulder-first. Sparks and blue blood sprayed outwards in equal measure, accompanied by the alien's screams. After a few seconds, the grinder overloaded and shut down, but the Battlesuit was so far in that the teeth had a firm grip on it.

Lonnar punched its helmet-like sensor attachment a few times with his clamp for good measure and turned his attention to the other combat.

A plasma bolt from the Hammerhead whistled past unnervingly close.

Grimfist jumped onto the tank's hull. The weight of his armour was enough to throw its aim off and the next shot went wide, hitting one of the machines and setting it on fire. Flames caught the rubber belts and the air quickly filled with an acrid stench.

"With me, brother!" Grimfist shouted.

Lonnar suppressed his customary reply as he sprinted the length of the warehouse and used his augmetic arms to throw himself up onto the hull.

The Battlesuit's components exploded outwards as its emergency ejection mechanism was fired. Shi'lo dropped from the wreckage and onto the floor of the plant. Its long orange robes of office were grimy and torn and blue blood was draining from a deep wound in its shoulder but it seemed mostly unharmed. It reached down to its belt and unclipped an equalizer.

"You will _not_ claim victory!" it announced, activating the weapon.

It telescoped out to its full length and its disruption field came online.

Grimfist looked it up and down. He had seen its kind before, in the hand of Samovar von Guyen. That weapon had shattered his last thunder hammer in a shockwave that nearly killed him.

Lonnar glanced at him.

He nodded.

Using his arms, Lonnar tore a section of the Hammerhead's plating off and set to work at the systems within, recalibrating them for manual control. Using the Tau code embedded in his suit he was able to interface with the alien software.

Grimfist stood between them, astride the turret's long barrel.

"I have read of your _fabled_ prowess," Shi'lo spat, viciously, and nodded at his equaliser. "But I know you fear this. Shall we see what it is capable of?"

"But I have already experienced its might," Grimfist said, coldly. "Now it is your turn."

Lonnar rerouted all power from the Hammerhead's engines and support systems to the turret cannon and engaged its firing mechanism.

Shi'lo's alien eyes widened in shock as it realised what was coming. It raised its equalizer.

The bolt of plasma met the disruption field and detonated, along with the equalizer at its heart. A flickering blue fireball engulfed Shi'lo and the plant along with him. It tore the building's roof off, toppled the grinding machines and overcame the Hammerhead's shields.

Warning signs flickered on Lonnar's display.

"With me!" Grimfist cried.

They jumped from the tank with seconds to spare.

Its reactor overloaded and it exploded in a wave of heat and noise. When the chaos faded, all that was left of the plant was a field of dust and rubble. There was a perfectly hemispherical crater where Shi'lo had once stood. Nothing remained of his body.

"Now," Lonnar said, as he dusted himself off, "Back to orbit."


	42. S5 E6: The Prophecy

Series V - The Fall

Episode VI - The Prophecy

 _Commander Shi'lo of the Tau Empire is dead, and Sergeant Tiris Eran of the Ulian 21_ _st_ _Regiment has a lead in the murder of her daughter. But her story must wait, for events are about to reach a head in orbit. Master Grimfist has returned to space and he will not like what awaits him there._

Gyrus, Lucius and Narre sat in the last row of pews inside the nave of the cathedral aboard the _Glory of Russala_ , listening to the deep bass tones of an Imperial hymn from the magnificent organ that towered over their heads. Its pipes seemed to shimmer slightly as a breeze sifted through the air and swung the chandeliers above them. They had changed into their armour in preparation for their meeting with the Master, in an attempt to remind him of their loyalty.

"This is excruciating," Gyrus muttered.

A group of servitors bustled past, singing gently to themselves and exuding the smell of oil and fumes as they went.

"We will be fine," Narre assured him. "You know as well as I do that Master Grimfist will see our logic, even if he produces an alibi for Farus."

"Farus just seemed so confident," Gyrus admitted.

"Would he not?" Narre remarked. "He is hardly going to give in and confess his crimes to us."

"The waiting is what troubles me," Lucius said. "We are told by the Lexicon to fill our time with combat practice or worship. I feel so useless doing nothing."

He shifted in his seat and turned to Gyrus.

"Tell me, brother," he said. "Why did Chaplain Aurelius attempt to use our friendship against you in the first place? Had you done something to anger him?"

"That is what confuses me," Gyrus said. "It was a simple meeting. I visited him to acquire a translation of the hymn I sang."

"Hymn?" Lucius repeated, curiously.

"Yes," Gyrus nodded. "All new inductees to the Apostles sing one, or so I am told. It was a message from the Emperor Himself, in Old Gothic."

"A rare phenomenon," Narre said. "One that would be hard to believe under different circumstances. The Lexicon goes into great detail concerning visions and divine visitations. Normally, the Emperor provides words of encouragement or – if the blessed one is lucky – a prophecy of some description. I wonder which yours was."

"What did you experience?" Lucius asked, keenly.

"I saw Him in His former glory," Gyrus said, "As the paintings and murals depict. I was taken to the Golden Throne and then to the Warp, and given a glimpse of His presence."

Inside his helmet, Lucius' eyes were wide with awe.

"You _saw_ the Astronomican?" he breathed.

"I felt it," Gyrus said. "And the only thing I could do was to sing. I have a recording of the hymn stored in my suit's memory banks, if you wish me to play it."

"Of course," Narre said.

Gyrus used his mind to browse the files stored within his suit. He selected the recording that the Chaplain had sent him and played it. The others watched him, unable to read his expression. His own voice filled his ears from within his head. Aurelius' translation algorithm had been thorough and he could understand every word. When it was finished, he removed his helmet and sighed.

"That was powerful," he said, reverentially.

"What did it say?" Lucius prompted.

"It repeated itself," Gyrus said. " _Love can_ _be drawn from others, but hatred comes from inside. Look into your own soul to find true evil_. I do not suppose either of you can interpret that?"

"The messages of the Emperor are not for us to understand," Narre pointed out.

"I am sure its full meaning will become clear in time," Lucius added. "But for now, it seems obvious. It concerns betrayal, and how some are predisposed to oppose others. The question is who it applies to . . . and I think we can provide an answer."

"If Farus _were_ a heretic," Gyrus said, "It would make sense for the Emperor to try to warn me in such a way. But we cannot be sure."

"Be sure of what?" came a familiar voice from behind them.

They rose and turned to see Master Grimfist himself standing there, still wearing his Terminator armour from his fight with Commander Shi'lo. Its clean white paint was flecked with dirt, ash and a few streaks of dried Tau blood. Clad in the suit, he rose above even their own heads.

Curatio Lonnar and Second Captain Harlus were with him, wearing armour of their own. Lonnar had removed his servo-harness. He looked smaller with only two arms.

"My lord," Gyrus greeted Grimfist, as the three of them signed the Aquila. "Thank the Emperor you are here. We are in dire need of your counsel."

Grimfist stepped forward and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"It is good to be back," he said, once they had broken apart. "That scum Shi'lo is dead."

"I never doubted your ability," Gyrus said.

"Come now," Grimfist joked. "You know I would not expect a lack of faith from you."

Lonnar shot Gyrus a sideways look, which he disregarded.

"Now," Grimfist said, "I am told we have an important matter to discuss. The Apostles will convene in my office immediately. Brother Lucius, Brother Narre, you will come as well. You seem somehow wrapped up in whatever this is."

They all set off along the nave, around the organ and towards the grand, sweeping staircase behind it. Whispers shot through the queue of aides and scribes waiting outside the office as they passed.

Grimfist closed the doors behind them and crossed to his desk.

None of them spoke a word. They didn't know what to say. For his part, Gyrus was still expecting an apology.

"Well," Grimfist said, "I will make no secret of it. There is no point to that anymore. You all deserve to know the truth."

"Most of us already have it," Lonnar observed.

"Have what?" Harlus asked.

"Are you the only one who does not know?" Grimfist said to him.

He shrugged.

"I suppose so," he said.

Grimfist looked at Gyrus.

"So much for you being able to keep my secrets," he said, disappointedly.

"My lord," Gyrus said, stepping towards the desk, "I appreciate the trust you placed in my when you revealed the story of how you came to lead this Chapter. But I was put in an impossible position. Chaplain Aurelius attempted to turn Lucius against me, and I challenged him to a duel in response. Farus stepped in to change the result."

"That is _Chief Librarian Farus_ to you," Grimfist reminded him. "And I would add that he has that right. It is his and his alone."

"Having power is not an excuse for using it," Lonnar said. "Something you should understand, as Master of our Chapter."

Grimfist gave a heavy sigh.

"I do understand it," he said. "If what you say is true, then Farus' behaviour was inappropriate, and I am not the only one who owes my brothers the truth. Captain Harlus, Gyrus' duel was not the first to have had its outcome changed. I once fought Jarfur for the rank of Master, and he won. Farus overrode the verdict in return for a promotion to Chief Librarian under my leadership."

Harlus reached up and removed his helmet. He wore a frown on his face.

"I do not understand . . ." he began.

Grimfist held up a hand for silence.

"There will be time later for me to explain the reasoning behind my actions," he said, solemnly. "And you can hold me to that promise. Until then, we must proceed."

"I am sorry, sir," Harlus apologised, "But I cannot abide by that."

"You will have to," Grimfist snapped.

Harlus held his gaze for a few tense moments, his eyes level with the glowing slits of the Terminator armour's visor, then broke away and looked down at the floor.

Grimfist muttered a curse to himself. He crossed to a cupboard by the wall and keyed a code into the pad beside it to allow access to the relics within. From inside came the beautiful golden chalice that had been gifted to the Chapter by the Primarch Guilliman himself, shortly before being inflicted with his mortal wound and being entombed on Macragge.

Gyrus stared at it. It was the source of all their ills.

"Such a harmless thing," Grimfist muttered, contemplatively. "And yet it has brought us so much ruin. In times like these, when the Chapter's burdens weigh most heavily on our shoulders, I often turn to the words the Primarch wrote within its lip. _Love can be drawn from others, but hatred comes from inside. Look into your own soul to find true evil_."

Gyrus felt his heartbeats quicken.

"Is that so?" he said. "Those are the words I received from the Emperor."

"Then it must mean something," Grimfist remarked. "For Him to have reminded you of His son's message now, of all times, is no coincidence."

Lucius glanced at Gyrus, who nodded.

"My lord," he ventured, "We believe we have an explanation for those words."

"Go on," Grimfist said. "Let us have it."

Lucius took a breath.

All eyes were on him.

"Sir," he said, "We believe that Librarian Farus, and by association Chaplain Aurelius, masterminded the death of Captain Jarfur."

Grimfist stared down at him through his visor. He did not speak.

"The evidence is all there," Lonnar ventured. "You must see it from our point of view, Master. Inquisitor Orrick was due to inspect us and Jarfur was the only one who both knew the truth of your rise to power and had the motive to share it with her. I have watched the recordings; I know he threatened as much multiple times during the last White Council."

Grimfist nodded to himself.

"And what evidence is there of this?" he said, patiently.

"The wound inflicted upon Captain Jarfur was from a Narthecium," Harlus said. "You saw as much yourself, sir. It must have come from within the Chapter."

"Farus _had_ to murder Jarfur, directly or indirectly," Lonnar persisted, "Else your favouritism would have been revealed to the Inquisitor."

Inside his helmet, Grimfist's eyes narrowed.

" _My_ favouritism?" he said. "Are you suggesting I am the cause of this?"

"Farus is its cause," Lonnar replied, levelly. "You are his enabler."

"You mean to claim," Grimfist said, his voice rising with each word, "That my closest friend and ally is a heretic and that I have been blind to – worse, that I have been allowing – his transgressions this entire time? I have known Chief Librarian Farus for _centuries_ and he has never once come close to breaching my trust. There is a perfectly good reason for this. We simply have to find it."

"We already have," Harlus said.

Grimfist fixed his gaze on him.

"I am extremely disappointed in you," he said. "All of you. It is not the way of the White Knights to use subterfuge and politics to assassinate our opponents' characters. You should have confronted me with this as soon as you became suspicious."

"We are sorry . . ." Lonnar attempted to say.

"Spare me your apologies," Grimfist interrupted. "I must admit, I am sorely tempted to hand you all over to the Inquisitor myself. She will understand the appropriate punishment for levelling so grave a set of charges without evidence. When Farus returns from his visit with her he will explain everything. In the meantime, you are all to be stripped of your responsibilities."

"Master, please," Gyrus said. "Consider this fairly."

Grimfist looked down at him.

"As for you," he said. "I normally consider incidents of insubordination more closely, but this time, it is clear to me what must be done. Gyrus, I am unspeakably ashamed of you."

"My apologies, my lord," Gyrus said, humbly. "We . . . I assumed that his alibi of being with you at the time of Jarfur's death was a bluff."

There was a pause.

Grimfist took a step back from the desk with a heavy thump.

"What alibi?" he said.

Lonnar glanced at Harlus, who smiled within his helmet.

"Farus told us you could cover for him," he explained. "Was he not with you at that time?"

"I do not know where he was," Grimfist said. "It is none of my business."

"In which case," Gyrus said, folding his arms, "We are left with a motive, a method and an opportunity. The pieces fit together perfectly."

"Ridiculous," Grimfist scoffed. "He would never do a thing like that."

"Shall we explain it again, sir?" Narre offered.

"No," Grimfist said, with a shake of his head. "I have the facts straight."

He brushed past them and walked over to the door, then swung it open in an indication that they should leave him alone.

"Return to your duties," he ordered, calmly. "We will resume this debate upon Farus' return."

"So we will not be punished?" Lucius asked.

"Do not make assumptions, brother," Grimfist warned. "That being said, I would be lying if I did not claim to understand why you have acted the way you have. Until I have a credible explanation from him, I will not assume the guilt of either party."

"And if he cannot provide one?" Gyrus said, pointedly.

Grimfist hesitated for a moment before replying.

"That thought had crossed my mind as well," he admitted. "I do not know yet, but I will consider my options. Now get out, and do not return until you are summoned. I have much to consider while you are gone."


	43. S5 E7: Hell Hath No Fury

Series V - The Fall

Episode VII - Hell Hath No Fury

 _The last thing Sergeant Tiris Eran of the Ulian 21_ _st_ _knew, she was fighting alongside Curatio Lonnar against Commander Shi'lo of the Tau Empire. On his orders, she has left the battlefield and set out on her own. This mission is personal: she still seeks the Tau with the red helmet, her daughter's murderer. Equipped with Lonnar's instruction and her own desire for revenge, she will see justice served._

The distant gunfire that had erupted in the meat-packing plant soon faded into the distance as Sergeant Tiris Eran, Corporal Verrel and Arin Sarox hurried away from the battle. Before long they heard the building explode and knew the fight was over. By that point, they were scrambling over piles of debris and through the remains of empty buildings. It took them some time to reach their destination: a collapsed hab-block near the edge of the level, directly to the south of the plant. The massive building had come down on its side and was still burning. Flames licked hungrily into the air and they could all feel the heat from a distance.

Tiris slung her las-rifle over her shoulder by its strap. She began picking her way through the wreckage. There were bodies around her, innocent civilians all. Most of them burned to the point of being unrecognisable. Finally, she vaulted over a fallen pillar to look out over a small clearing.

An Imperial Guardsman knelt before her, his gun missing and his hands on his head. He was praying as quickly and fervently as he could.

Standing over him was the Tau warrior that had killed Tiris' daughter, the one with the distinctive red stripe on its helmet. Lonnar's directions had been correct. It was aiming its pulse rifle directly at the Guardsman.

"Get away from him, you coward!" Tiris shouted.

It looked up and pulled the trigger.

The guardsman jolted and slumped to the ground.

By the time Tiris had unslung her las-rifle and taken aim, the alien had disappeared into the twisted remains of the building. She fired a few red needles after it in anger and then dropped down into the clearing.

"Sergeant," Arin said, scrambling down behind her, "We need to leave this place. You know how quickly one enemy can turn into ten."

"Arin . . ." Tiris muttered, and dropped to her knees beside the body. She unclipped the dead Guardsman's breastplate and looked inside.

"We don't have time for this," he urged. "Come on."

Tiris looked up at him. Tears were running down the ash streaking across her face.

"I couldn't save her," she said, her voice shaking and cracking. "My daughter. My little Fienna. And I couldn't save Trooper Quinlok either. What use am I to the world?"

"Hey," Arin said.

"It's okay," Verrel added, as helpfully as he could.

Tiris defiantly wiped her tears away.

"I'm going to get that Tau, you hear me?" she said, through gritted teeth. "The one with the red stripe on its helmet. It's mine."

Arin looked at Verrel, who nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go."

Tiris throw the breastplate away with a snarl and climbed to her feet. She made for the edge of the clearing, in the direction the Tau had gone. Beyond the burning wreckage of the hab-block was the empty street it had once overlooked, strewn about with abandoned cars and trucks. More bodies dotted the pavements.

They crossed it and stepped into the building on the other side.

It had presumably once been an office. There was a reception desk in the centre of the lobby with a rusted chandelier hanging over it. None of them could help imagining it as it had once been, before the war between the Tau and the Imperium had ripped it apart.

" _Sergeant_ ," crackled Tiris' radio, as they made for the other side of the lobby, " _Do you read me? This is General Bannur_."

"I read you, sir," Tiris returned.

" _What's going on out there?_ " Banner asked. " _We've had reports of an engagement in a meat-packing plant near your last known location, not too far from HQ._ "

"We were involved in a firefight there," Tiris reported. "But we disengaged and we do not know the resolution. We're currently headed south."

" _And why's that?_ " Bannur said, doubtfully.

Tiris bit her lip.

"As it happened, we crossed paths with Curatio Lonnar," she said, knowing it wasn't entirely a lie. "And he gave us a lead on the location of the Tau commander."

From the sound of his explanation, it had looked as though news of Shi'lo's death had not yet reached him. She was gambling on that much. The silence before he replied was excruciating.

" _Fine work, Sergeant_ ," Bannur sent. " _Proceed as you will_."

"Thank you, sir," Tiris said, and ended the call.

They left the building through the back door and continued along the deserted streets beyond. Flames licked from shell craters. A blanket of smoke had gathered above their heads, obscuring the bottom of the level above from view.

"You know," Arin said, as they walked on through the ruined city, "You couldn't have asked for a worse commanding officer."

Tiris and Verrel laughed.

"He's not very understanding," Verrel said, as timidly as ever.

"I don't like lying to him," Tiris admitted. "And I'm as keen as the rest of them to follow orders, but Fienna's murderer is out there somewhere and I know what I plan to do when I find it."

"You called it a coward," Arin reminded her. "Why was that?"

"I've been tracking it for some time," Tiris said, "And listening in on the radio reports too. They say a Tau with a red stripe on its helmet has been spotted at the sites of several battles across the hive. It always preys on stragglers and the injured, so . . ."

"So it's a coward," Arin nodded. "I get it."

"Maybe it's just scared," Verrel said.

Tiris glanced back at him.

"What do you mean?" she said.

He shrugged.

"Sometimes," he ventured, "After what happened at the hospital, I . . ."

"Go on," Arin said, encouragingly.

Verrel cleared his throat and blinked back tears.

"I wouldn't fight," he continued. "I'd aim my rifle like the rest of them and look like I was trying, but my heart wasn't in it. And when I did fire, it'd only be at targets I was sure to hit. I wanted it to seem like I was doing something good, but I wasn't strong enough to actually do it."

"Had you considered that, Sergeant?" Arin said. "That this Tau is scared?"

Tiris shook her head.

"I don't care if it's running around with piss in its boots," she growled. "My daughter's dead and it's alive. That's got to change."

She was so absorbed in her planning that she almost missed the flash of orange amidst the wreckage of a bus. Rifle up, she dropped into a crouch and led the others towards it.

The alien was skulking behind one of the benches in the bus, picking up discarded ration packs and checking to see if their contents were still edible.

Tiris' eyes widened as it straightened up, showing the distinctive red stripe on its helmet.

"Hands up!" she shouted, aiming the las-rifle at it.

To her surprise, it obeyed her.

"Leave your gun where you are and come out where I can see you!" she barked.

It descended the steps from the bus' open doors and dropped onto the cracked ferrocrete of the roadway. Slowly and steadily it walked towards her.

She kept her sights trained on the two glowing bulbs set into its helmet.

"Please," it said, "Let me go."

A thick accent made its Gothic hard to understand.

"There was a girl," Tiris said, through gritted teeth. "Remember? A little girl!"

"I remember," it blurted out.

"And you shot her!" she shouted.

"Yes," it admitted.

She swung the las-rifle like a club, hitting the side of its helmet with the stock.

It reeled away, clutching at its head.

Arin strode across to them and kicked its legs out from under it.

Tiris placed a boot on its chest and pointed her rifle at its head.

"Did it make you feel good?" she spat. "Huh? Taking someone's daughter away? Did it make you feel strong? She was a little girl!"

"I'm so . . . scared . . ." it stammered, as it fumbled with the clasp around its neck.

The helmet fell away.

Tiris couldn't believe what she saw. The alien was young, no more than fourteen years old by her reckoning. Tears were running down its face.

"Please," it begged. "Don't kill me."

"And why shouldn't I?" she demanded. "I want revenge!"

"Will it make you feel strong?" it asked, quietly.

The anger faded from Tiris' bones. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and slung her las-rifle back over her shoulder.

"You're right," she panted. "I can't do this."

In a second it had wriggled out from beneath her and run.

She went after it but it was faster.

"Come on!" she shouted to the others.

They picked up the pace and followed her.

The sound of its cries echoed through the empty city as they tracked it on and on. After what must have been fifteen minutes the scenery around them began to look familiar. It took them a moment to realise that they had come full circle, and that their route had brought them back to the meat-packing plant where they had parted ways with Curatio Lonnar.

"Kid!" Tiris shouted, stumbling into the wreckage. "Where are you?"

Now the bodies of Tau warriors were all around her.

A noise came from nearby.

She looked up to see the alien standing next to a large crated blaster into the floor of the level.

"Listen," she said, gently. "Come here."

"No," it said. "You are here to hurt me."

"Trust me, I'm not," she promised. "Please."

"What's wrong?" Verrel asked.

It turned its attention to him. He had sounded as if he was uncertain of the words even as he spoke them, which was normal for him, but the Tau seemed to sense something in him. It walked over to him and fixed its alien eyes on his.

"Why are you following me?" it said.

"This is Tiris," Verrel said, indicating her to it. "She wanted to say sorry for scaring you. You don't have anything to be afraid of."

"I shot the little girl," it said to Tiris. "Was she . . . was she your daughter?"

"Yeah," Tiris nodded.

"All I wanted was to kill things," it explained. "I wanted to be strong, to impress my father. He was going to be so proud of me. Aren't you angry at me?"

"To be honest, I have no idea how I feel at the moment," Tiris admitted. "It hasn't quite sunk in yet. I didn't expect to be helping _you_ , though. Where's your dad?"

The Tau pointed at the smouldering crater in front of them.

"There," it said.

Tiris frowned.

"I see," she said. "That's . . . pretty hard. You okay?"

"It hasn't quite sunk in yet," it said, knowingly.

She chuckled to herself.

"Tell me about it," she said. "Do you, uh . . . I know this is strange, but I don't know much about your kind . . . do you have a mother as well?"

It looked up at her.

"Yes," it said. "But not here, on Ulis. I need to leave the planet, I suppose."

"Well, that's not going to happen unless you get back to your lines," she remarked, and reached down to her belt to unclip her transponder. "Here. I'm really not supposed to do this, but if you keep this with you, it'll mark you out as a friend of ours and you won't get shot at. Alright?"

"Alright," it said, and took it from her.

"Now go on," she said, "Get back to your friends."

It quickly turned and hurried away.

"And kid!" she called.

It glanced back over its shoulder.

"Yes?" it asked.

"I'm sorry," she said, simply. "About your father."

"And I am sorry about your daughter," it returned. "For a _Gue'la_ , you are better than expected."

"You're not all bad yourself," she said.

She watched the alien go, shook her head slowly and turned back to Arin and Verrel. She'd had enough of Fastunhive.


	44. S5 E8: Chaos Undivided

Series V - The Fall

Episode VIII - Chaos Undivided

 _With battles both physical and political raging down on Ulis and in orbit, Chief Librarian Farus has gone aboard Inquisitor Orrick's vessel to learn the fate of the Chapter. With him is the Casket of Tears, the ancient Chaos artefact taken from the fallen Samovar von Guyen. He is anxious to see resolve the disputes at hand, but he is not the only one with much to lose – or to gain. Dark powers are watching._

Farus strode down the ramp of the Thunderhawk gunship, protected by his honour guard of four Astartes. He wore his battle armour. On the left shoulderpad was emblazoned a golden chalice and on his right was a horned skull, the symbol of the Librarium. The tabard hanging from his waist was adorned with patches and badges to denote his rank and experience. In his left hand was a secure lockbox containing the Casket of Tears.

More Astartes flanked the entrance to the hangar. They wore the dull suits of the Grey Knights, with the red letter I of the Inquisition on their chests and crimson edging on their kneepads.

He nodded to them as he passed.

They did not react. When the White Knights' delegation was through the doors they smoothly fell into step behind.

The radio built into Farus' psychic hood crackled with Josephine Orrick's voice.

" _My apologies for the security, Chief Librarian_ ," she sent.

"It is nothing," he replied.

A gun-servitor trundled out of an adjoining antechamber to lead them along the twisted labyrinth of passageways and halls. The air smelled gently of incense and the vessel was lit by artificial torches and strip-lights built into the vaulted ceiling.

Inquisitor Orrick was travelling aboard the _Temple of Holy Fury_ , a relatively modest, two-kilometre cruiser bristling with every advanced weapon the organisation had to offer. Its interior was styled to resemble a fortress, with stone blocks making up the walls. But each step exposed its utilitarian roots: the floor was corrugated metal, bolted down by heavy rivets.

" _You are being brought to my inner sanctum_ ," Orrick explained, enigmatically. " _Simply follow the servitor I have provided_."

He did not send a reply. A glance at the Grey Knights behind him earned no response.

They stepped into a lift and began to descend towards the very heart of the ship. After a few moments the shutters slid apart to reveal a yawning chamber. It was easily a hundred metres from end to end, and almost fifty tall. Sitting in the middle of the floor was a building that looked as if it had been dropped in from somewhere else entirely. It resembled an ancient, arcane temple, complete with a triangular portico and long rows of columns on either side of the grand entrance. Countless wires trailed down from the gloom by the ceiling and entered the temple through holes cut into its roof.

The Grey Knights took their places on either side of the archway.

Farus went through, leaving his own men outside with them.

Inside, the wires that came through the roof were bunched up in large clusters and fed down into a sphere that hung in midair by taut ropes attached to the walls. It was humming angrily and glowing with a kind of inner strength. A single cable led from its underside and ran into a console in the very centre of the temple.

Josephine Orrick was working at it, browsing through classified files and sending them off to their destinations. She did not turn when she heard him.

"Ah," she said, and her voice echoed around them. "You are here. We have not met before."

"Yes, we have," he corrected her.

"Really?" she replied. "I don't suppose you were very memorable, then."

She clicked her fingers and another servitor appeared out of the darkness. It rolled up to them on caterpillar tracks with a golden tray balanced on spindly mechanical fingers. Sitting on the tray were two glasses of red wine.

"Would you like a drink?" she offered, turning to face him. "It's a Terran '342. Vintage."

"As you wish," he said, blankly.

"The decision is yours," she told him.

"Then the answer is no, thank you," he courteously replied.

"Did I say 342.M.41?" she asked, with a smile flickering across her face. "Let me clarify. What I meant was 342. _M.29._ "

Farus reached out and plucked a glass off the tray.

"I thought that might change your mind," she said, coyly.

The servitor trundled back out of sight.

"This is my first time drinking wine from twelve thousand years ago," he admitted.

"Not quite," she said. "The original bottle is stored in my personal quarters. I took a small sample a few years ago and had the replicators make a few copies. It's not bad, though. They've got the aftertaste absolutely right."

Farus took a sip.

"To me, it tastes delicious," he said.

"I suppose it wouldn't be fair of me to expect a Space Marine to know about wine," she said. "Though you are somewhat exceptional. I expected you to come here wearing a helmet in an attempt to intimidate me. What changed?"

He reached up and tapped the hood that extended above his head with an armoured finger.

"This is my psychic hood," he told her. "It amplifies my powers and protects me from the Chaos Gods. It cannot be worn along with a helmet . . . and also, I am not here to intimidate you."

"Congratulations, then," she said, with a laugh. "You're doing a fine job. And speaking of the Chaos Gods, I believe you have something for me."

"Yes," Farus agreed.

He brought up the lockbox and held it out between them. It took a second to read his genetic print from the electromagnetic weave laid over a finger of his right glaive, then the heavy bolts slid back and its lid hissed open. The Casket of Tears sat inside it, surrounding by holy tokens and relics to negate its corrupting influence.

"It's beautiful," Orrick whispered.

"It is not safe," he warned.

She gestured around them at the grandeur of the inner sanctum.

"Trust me," she said. "Nowhere is it safer than here. Give it to me."

Farus reached into the lockbox and lifted the Casket out.

His actions did not go unnoticed. Thousands of light-years away, across the boundaries of time and space and outside the constraints of reality itself, dark powers awoke. With that moment of contact, ancient mechanisms were triggered and plans set in motion. A psychic signal burst out from the Sagittarius Arm and spread through the galaxy in a wave of black energy.

"Chief Librarian?" Orrick prompted, impatiently. " _Give it to me_."

Farus could barely hear her. He couldn't think straight. There was a faint ringing in his ears and he could taste something sour in his mouth. The world itself seemed to be twisting and changing before his eyes. He looked up from the Casket and pulled himself from his stupor for a moment, and then his vision flashed pure white. Now he was standing in the cathedral aboard the _Glory of Russala_ , but it was not as he knew it. It resembled the vision that the Casket had given him in Fastunhive, when he had confronted Samovar von Guyen: cracked and crumbling walls, shattered windows and an endless carpet of dead Astartes covering the tiled floor.

"All this will came to pass," a voice hissed.

Farus whirled around.

The Executioner stood before him, ever inch as intimidating in death as he had been in life. Curling horns had burst from his temples and a pair of green eyes blazed through the darkness beneath a tall hood. The half-light gleamed off his steel-capped boots.

"You are dead," Farus gasped, struggling to summon the words.

"I live on," von Guyen whispered. "This body was never my host."

Farus' eyes widened.

"The Casket," he realised. "It must be destroyed."

"For me to die, yes," von Guyen purred. "But you will not destroy it. Instead, it will destroy you. When we last spoke, I told you that everything had changed."

"Nothing has changed," Farus insisted.

"That was a lie then," von Guyen said, simply, "And it is a lie now. Let me show you."

In a second, the vision was gone. Farus was sucked through dimensions and back to reality. But the world he came back to was not the world he had left. He was standing in the inner sanctum with the Casket of Tears under his arm and his bolt pistol held out before him in his right hand.

Orrick was facing him. Her eyes were blazing with psychic energy. He hadn't realised she was gifted as well, but that was the least of his concerned. His movements were not his own.

"I should have guessed you would turn," she spat. "You would not be the first. I knew it would happen the moment I detected the Tau code in Captain Jarfur's suit."

Farus fought desperately to overcome the forces imbuing him.

"Jarfur's suit?" he managed to get out. "You met him?"

"Of course I met him," she said, innocently. "I was the one who killed him."

"I am being held to blame for that crime," Farus snarled.

At an unspoken order from her, the gun-servitors rolled forward from the darkness around them.

His bolter barked once for each of them. They reeled away in showers of oil and sparks.

"You heretic!" he roared, gaining more control with each passing second. It was not the dark forces of Chaos that were guiding his hand now, but his own rising anger.

"Heretic?" she said. "I wear the signet ring of the Inquisition. I hold the authority of the Emperor of Mankind. Jarfur was the heretic, not me. Interaction through aliens by _any_ means is a crime powerful by communication. Thus far I have received word of a conspiracy by some among your Chapter to bring down their fellows, borne witness to the assimilation of Tau and Imperial code and seen you declare innocent a Marine who patently breached the Lexicon, the code you claim to live by."

He said nothing. He was shaking with rage.

"The Inquisition hereby declares you suspended of authority pending excommunication," she said, unfazed by the pistol aimed at her face. "You are to surrender your Navigators and remain in orbit of Ulis until we reach a final verdict."

"Just like that?" he asked, coldly.

"Just like that," she replied. "And since you appear to be at the centre of all this, I will be placing you under arrest as a precaution. Astartes!"

The Grey Knights guarding the entrance stepped into the temple, ready to seize him.

An unseen force picked them up and lifted them into the air. Lightning bolts materialised from tears in the very fabric of reality and flashed off their armour. Their eyes burst inside their helmets and they dropped heavily to the floor.

"What have you done?" Orrick demanded, gesturing the bodies. "You'd kill your own kind?"

"You are not taking this Casket from me," he growled.

As he spoke, he holstered the pistol and drew his power sword from the scabbard by his belt.

"Try me," she said.

His blade came down diagonally across her front.

She blocked it with her mind, drawing energy from the Warp, and their psyches met. Bright sparks showered from nothingness between them and danced and flickered around their feet. A stream of pure energy linked their temples, pulsating and flashing with an eerie inner force.

Orrick's presence in the Immaterium was strong but he was stronger. Using all his strength, he stripped away her mental defences and shredded her consciousness into millions of pieces. Her empty corpse fell, lifeless, to the floor.

The sound of heavy footfalls came from behind him. It was the four Astartes he had brought with him. Their weapons were up and at the ready but they stopped in their paces when they saw the bodies of the Grey Knights and the Inquisitor.

"Sir," one of them said. "What . . ."

"We are leaving," Farus announced. "With me, brothers."

"Where to, my lord?" he said.

"The Inquisition have turned on us," Farus lied. "We must fight our way out. I recognise that it will involve combat against your fellow Astartes, but it is in the name of the Emperor."

The Marine hesitated before answering.

"That is unacceptable," he said.

Farus rolled his eyes and summoned his psychic powers.

 _Good_ , murmured Samovar von Guyen, from inside his head. _You have become that which you dread most. And your vision will become reality._


	45. S5 E9: Excommunicatus

Series V - The Fall

Episode IX - Excommunicatus

 _The brewing storm can be contained no longer. With the truth finally exposed, tensions are at bursting point. Farus has fallen under the spell of Samovar von Guyen, and the Casket of Tears he calls host. Despite his being innocent of Captain Jarfur's murder, the constant accusations of his fellows have pushed him away from them and into the welcoming arms of Chaos. They are unaware of this – but not for long._

Gyrus, Lucius and Narre were walking back along the nave of the cathedral when the alarms sounded. Red lights concealed in the shadows by the high ceiling began turning, casting long, flickering shadows across the tiled floor.

The serfs and servitors scattered in all directions as they were automatically reassigned to their combat posts. One by one the tall arched windows were covered by shutters that uncoiled to be fixed in place by giant bolts.

"Full alert," Lucius said, recognising the drill.

"We must be preparing for ship-to-ship action," Narre said. "There is no time to lose. We need to reach the bridge."

"With me, brothers," Gyrus beckoned.

They set off towards the lift at a jog, their boots landing with heavy thumps on the tiles.

In a matter of moments the atmosphere in the nave had changed completely. The quiet hymns and gentle smell of incense were gone. In their place were marching bands of Astartes and wailing sirens to warn of incoming projectiles. It had been a long time since the _Glory of Russala_ had seen naval combat, but the routine was well practiced.

Several Thunderhawks were lifting off from the landing area as they approached. One after the other they tilted their noses upwards and slid through the hole in the roof, into the darkness of space. Through the atmospheric forcefield could be seen spiralling patrols of interceptors and bombers. They flocked around the battle barge for protection.

More and more staff were flooding past the three Marines now, hurrying to their positions. The tide of bodies was almost unbearable and they found themselves pushing people out of their way.

A prayer-servitor went tumbling over on Gyrus' right, sending sheets of notes and religious texts fluttering through the air.

He ignored it and pressed on. The lift ahead was surrounded by a gaggle of adjutants, poring over papers and chattering about different engagement strategies.

Narre spotted a couple of Imperial Guardsmen nearby.

"Disperse this lot," he said.

"I'm not sure we're permitted to . . ." one of them began.

"That is an order, mortal," Narre snapped.

"We'll get right to it," the man promised.

Between them the Guardsmen cleared a space around the entrance to the lift, barking orders to keep back the serfs and aides.

The three of them entered the lift. Silence fell as it descended to the tip of the fin protruding from the battle barge's underside. They were all thinking the same thing but none of them knew how to voice their concerns aloud.

"Well," Gyrus finally said, "What could this mean?"

"Firing on the _Temple of Holy Fury_ is an act of heresy, simple as that," Lucius observed. "There are no two ways about it."

"Master Grimfist would not order such a move lightly," Narre said. "In fact, I do not believe he would do it unless he believed himself to be correct without question."

"Farus is aboard the _Temple_ right now," Lucius reminded him. "Do you think . . ?"

"Perhaps he told the Master something he did not want to hear," Gyrus said. "But Grimfist would not hold the Inquisition responsible for Farus' transgressions as well. None of this makes sense."

"We shall find out soon enough," Lucius said.

Sure enough, the lift slowed and came to a half. The doors parted to reveal the bridge at the very tip of the battle barge's lower fin. If the Chapter Master's office was the political centre of the Chapter, this was its nerve centre, the one room from which all vital information flowed. It was a long, elliptical chamber with wraparound windows giving views in all directions. Aides worked at rows of desks or at displays projected onto the glass. The squawking of radio communications and the constant chatter of the strategists filled the air.

Curatio Lonnar was already there, examining a holographic image of the ship and highlighting key areas upon it. A pair of enginseers were with him, wearing the distinctive lamellar plate and crimson robes of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

"Master Lonnar," Gyrus said, as they strode over to him. "Knowledge and faith."

" _Ex machina_ , Gyrus," Lonnar returned. "If you are seeking the Master, you are not alone. He has sequestered himself in the communications centre."

He nodded over his shoulder to the back of the bridge, where doors led away to the adjoining chapel and comms centre respectively. The two small rooms were tucked into the trailing edge of the fin with tall windows looking out into the void.

"What is he doing in there?" Lucius asked.

"That, Astarte, is the question of the hour," Lonnar said. "All I know is that he has been in there since before I arrived and that he asked not to be disturbed. The aides I spoke to said he went in about half an hour ago."

"But that was before the drill was sounded," Gyrus said.

"Indeed it was," Lonnar agreed.

"Then who ordered it?" Gyrus wondered.

Lonnar slid a data-slate over to them. An audio file had already been brought up; he keyed in a code and played it aloud for them to hear.

" _All signatures aboard the_ Glory of Russala," came the tinny but unmistakeable voice, " _This is Acting Chapter Master Farus. I have engaged with hostile Inquisition forces on the_ Temple of Holy Fury _and require immediate support. Prepare for naval action_."

"Farus," Gyrus said, coldly. "I might have guessed."

"We must warn the Master," Narre said.

The door to the comms centre hissed open and Grimfist himself stepped out, clad in his embroidered tunic and with a wreath of laurels circling his grey hair. His face took on a look of bemusement when he saw the chaotic scene on the bridge. A passing adjutant noticed him and paused, prompting a group of her fellows to do the same. Within a few seconds the entire room had fallen silent. Officers and serfs alike stood patiently by their stations, awaiting fresh orders.

"Farus called in an attack on the _Temple_ ," Lonnar said, flatly.

Grimfist walked over to them.

"Why would he do a thing like that?" he said.

"He alleges the Inquisition were trying to kill him," Lonnar explained.

Grimfist muttered a curse under his breath and turned away. He looked through the windows to the _Temple of Holy Fury_ , which was floating a short distance away in the void. Her running-lights were blinking red and the shields along her buttressed superstructure had slid aside to allow her plasma projectors and macro-lasers a clear shot.

"There are hundreds of Grey Knights aboard that ship," he mused. "He would kill Astartes?"

None of them spoke a word. At long, long last, Grimfist was coming to the realisations they had all reached long ago. His skin was pale and drawn as he turned back to them.

"This has gone on for far too long," he said, and nodded to the comms centre. "I was speaking with Lord Inquisitor Jae Lonlax, commander of all Inquisition Forces in Segmentum Ultima. We are to surrender our Navigators and remain in orbit of Ulis pending excommunication."

"We are to be excommunicated?" Gyrus asked, in shock.

Grimfist shook his head.

"It remains possible," he said, "But not certain. There is little we know for sure at this time."

"And Farus?" Narre prompted.

Grimfist did not reply. He looked down at the floor.

Every pair of eyes in the room were fixed on him.

Gyrus' eyes were among them. He was silently willing Grimfist to see the truth: that Farus was the one to blame for everything that was happening to them. Surely, he thought, there was no plausible explanation for his order to fire upon the Inquisition. The Master had spent so long defending Farus, coming up with every reason to trust him and denying every reason not to, that he had blinded himself to the facts. This was a harsh wake-up call.

Grimfist looked up.

"There is a parasitic faction growing in our Chapter," he said, solemnly. "For too long have I tolerated its presence, labouring under the impression that it would someday abate of its own accord. Perhaps it was because the man at its heart was a friend of mine. Perhaps it was because, in my own way, I had contributed to its birth. Whatever the reason, mistakes made in the past cannot excuse mistakes made in the present."

He spoke to each of them in turn, fixing his gaze on them for a moment and then moving on.

"My conversation with Lord Inquisitor Lonlax has made it very clear to me that this is the moment in which the future of the White Knights will be decided," he said. "The moment in which I must either assume the mantle that Dominicus Nero laid down for me, or prove myself unworthy of it. There is no more delaying, no more reasoning. To secure the posterity of the Chapter I hold dear, and to placate the forces of the Inquisition, there is only one course of action. This parasite cannot be tolerated any longer. It must be cut out at its source."

"My lord," Gyrus said, "What does this mean?"

Grimfist cleared his throat.

"I hereby declare Chief Librarian Farus stripped of all rank and responsibility, to be considered an enemy of the Imperium and the Inquisition both," he announced.

Gasps ran through the room. It was an unprecedented move.

"Relay a message to the _Temple of Holy Fury_ ," he said to one of the communications staff, "Requesting that they disarm their weapons in return for the same. Tell them I will be coming aboard personally to arrest Farus."

"Yes sir," the woman nodded.

"And tell landing and docking control to have a Thunderhawk waiting in the cathedral," he added, "With a full complement of Astartes and room in the crew compartment for four."

Gyrus gave a respectful nod to Lonnar, who smiled back at him, as he followed Narre, Lucius and Grimfist over to the lift. They stepped inside and the doors closed.

"What will become of Farus, sir?" Lucius said, as the lift began to climb.

"He will be arraigned here and held indefinitely," Grimfist replied, "Until we can determine whether his actions are merely misguided or truly the work of a heretic."

Gyrus frowned. It had not crossed his mind that Farus might be under the influence of Chaos.

"Do you think that likely?" he said, seriously.

"I do not know," Grimfist admitted. "But I know how to find out. I have been considering what you told me about the hymn you sang during your admission to the Apostles, and the message the Emperor gave you. He must have recanted his son's words for a reason."

" _Love can be drawn from others, but hatred comes from inside_ ," Gyrus recited. " _Look into your own soul to find true evil_. You believe that applies to Farus?"

"I do," Grimfist said. "And yet we cannot be sure. Primarch Guilliman was responsible for having that message engraved on the chalice in my quarters, and for gifting it to our Chapter. To know what he meant by it, we must consult those most familiar with him."

"The Ultramarines," Gyrus said.

"That is the deal I will offer the Inquisition," Grimfist said. "Farus will remain in custody here in orbit of Ulis, under close guard, while we travel to Macragge and seek the counsel of Chief Librarian Tigurius and Master Calgar."

Before any of them could reply, the lift stopped and the doors opened once more.

A crowd had formed in the cathedral but the Guardsmen they had spoken to earlier were still working to keep a clear path through the press. Waiting in the landing area was a Thunderhawk with its ramp down and its crew compartment filled with Astartes of the Second Company.

"Sir," Harlus said, as he strode down the ramp, "I am briefed and ready. These are the finest warriors available to us."

"Thank you, Captain," Grimfist returned. "There is no time to waste."

They climbed the ramp and it swung upwards behind them, hauled into place by heavy hydraulic pistons. A moment later the Thunderhawk's engines throttled up to lift it off the floor. It slid through the forcefield covering the hole in the roof of the cathedral and swung round on a course for the _Temple of Holy Fury_.

"I will need a weapon," Grimfist said.

Harlus unholstered his bolt pistol and handed it over, then accepted a replacement from one of his men. His expression was unreadable inside his helmet but the worry was clear in his voice.

"Farus may not come without a fight," he warned.

"Oh, he will," Grimfist growled. "When he sees me."

"I spoke with Sergeant Yan Cordell of the Grey Knights," Harlus said. "He told me that Farus is fighting his way towards the hangar, where his Thunderhawk is waiting. I told him to order the Thunderhawk to leave and defend the hangar if possible."

"A wise decision," Grimfist said, "And a refreshing one. I have spent too much time surrounded by those with their own agendas. It is nice to be among Astartes I can trust."

"Knowledge and faith," Gyrus recited.

"Knowledge and faith," Grimfist repeated back to him.

The gunship swung around on its landing trajectory and they could see the flank of the _Temple_ sliding past outside through the viewports. It was adorned with turrets and holy icons. After a few moments the Thunderhawk slid through the field and its landing gear descended. The ramp swung down after it, giving them a clear view of what awaited them.

A group of Grey Knights was clustered around the open doors at the far end of the hangar. They were firing down the corridor beyond with their bolters, filling the echoing space with the tinkling of spent cartridges and the smell of gunfire. One of them took a hit and his breastplate exploded in a shower of gore and adamantium fragments. He staggered backwards, his front a bloody ruin.

Farus charged through the doors, swinging his power sword from side to side. His forehead crackled with psychic energy. Tiny lightning bolts sparked off his shoulderpads and flickered down to the floor. His power armour was covered in bloodstains and it was scorched and torn in several places. Blood was dripping from a hole in one of his greaves. But despite his wounds he moved with effortless grace, eyes blazing, sliding from target to target in a kind of morbid dance.

One of the Grey Knights fell instantly, his mind shredded.

The others retreated, sending volleys of bolter rounds towards Farus only to find them blocked by glowing, ethereal shields.

"Farus!" Grimfist shouted.

He stopped in his tracks.

The White Knights stomped down the ramp of the Thunderhawk, guns up and at the ready.

Grimfist was at their head. Wearing only his tunic he was noticeably smaller than them, but his authority was palpable. They fanned out around him in a semicircle with their aim fixed on Farus.

Farus' power sword clattered to the floor with a ringing clang that echoed through the hangar. He holstered his bolt pistol and slowly and deliberately made for Grimfist. Each step was accompanied by the hissing of his armour and left a bloody footprint. His psychic hood crackled and hummed angrily with its immense energy.

Grimfist raised the pistol Harlus had given him and levelled it at Farus' head. Its barrel did not wobble so much as a millimetre.

The other four drew their guns as well, stepping through the line of Knights to flank their Chapter Master and keep him safe.

Farus paid them no heed. He stood before Grimfist. As they watched, the energy in his eyes faded and he seemed to shrink a little.

"Where is the Casket of Tears?" Grimfist demanded.

"It is safe," Farus said, simply.

"I do not believe you," Grimfist told him.

All the colour was draining from Farus' thin face.

"Sanctus," he said, "I am . . ."

"You will not call me that," Grimfist snapped. "You will call me Master. There is only breath in your lungs right now because I have not ordered you dead. Do not think I will not change that."

There was a long stretch of silence.

A tear rolled down Farus' cheek.

"I have failed you," he said, shakily.

Grimfist was unmoved.

"The Casket," he reiterated. "Now."

From behind them came the thumping of armoured boots as a full three squads of Grey Knights poured into the hangar, accompanied by Inquisitorial staff and aides all armed with las-weapons. Leading them was Sergeant Yan Cordell, a hulking figure with brown skin and a thick neck knotted with muscle. He brushed through the Knights and laid a hand on Gyrus' shoulderpad.

"In the name of the Inquisition, step aside," he ordered.

Gyrus did as he was asked. He moved over so Cordell could stand alongside Grimfist.

Farus was staring down at the floor. He had not moved.

Grimfist still had his bolt pistol aimed at his head.

"Prepare to fire!" Cordell barked.

His men cocked and loaded their bolters.

"No," Grimfist said. "Stand down."

"This heretic killed twenty of my Astartes," Cordell told him, "And four of your own, not to mention Inquisitor Orrick. He will slaughter anything that stands in his way."

"He carries something of immense value," Grimfist said. "Rest assured, if he does not hand it to me immediately, I will shoot him myself."

Farus reached behind his back.

Well aware that he could be drawing a weapon, Grimfist stiffened his arm and tightened his grip on the trigger.

Instead, Farus deactivated the magnetic clamps at his belt and held out the Casket.

The lights in the hangar seemed to flicker for a moment. In that second, they all felt the chill in the air and heard the quiet whispers of the Chaos Gods. Their fates were bound to the Casket, and its fate to them. There was utter silence as the darkness slowly faded.

"Retrieve it," Grimfist said to Gyrus.

His voice did not echo. The room was cold and dead.

Gyrus kept his own pistol trained on Farus as he stepped forward. He reached out to take the Casket from him. For a tense moment his fingers hovered inches from it.

Then it was in his hand, and the arcane spell was broken.

"Farus," Grimfist said, "You are stripped of rank and responsibility. We will take you into our protection and imprison you aboard the _Last Hope of the Weary_ , under the guard of the First Company. That will be the end of your service with our Chapter and – pending an Inquisitorial investigation – of your life. It is not a decision I make lightly, but it is final."

"Master . . ." Farus began.

"Not a word," Grimfist stopped him. "You have done enough damage to the White Knights already. I will not let you do one word more."

He bowed his head.

On Harlus' direction, a group of Marines advanced and surrounded him. They pinned his arms by his sides and kept firm hands on his shoulderpads as they guided him past Grimfist and aboard the waiting Thunderhawk.

"Return him to the _Weary_ ," Harlus ordered, speaking into the radio. "And send another ship. We will be following shortly."

Grimfist handed the bolt pistol back to him and relaxed. Normality was slowly returning as the Astartes all lowered their weapons to being repairing the damage Farus had caused.

" _You_ will following," Grimfist said, speaking to his men, "But I will remain here with Sergeant Cordell until we have reached an understanding as to why this incident was allowed to happen. He will explain the situation to me in full. When we are done, I will join you on the _Glory of Russala_."

"And what then, sir?" Gyrus asked.

Grimfist looked at him.

"To Macragge," he said. "To get some answers."


	46. S6 E1: Lord Inquisitor

Series VI - Ultramar

Episode I - Lord Inquisitor

 _The growing schism in the Chapter has exploded violently into the light. Farus, now stripped of his rank and responsibility as Chief Librarian, has been arrested after murdering two dozen of his fellow Astartes, White Knights and Grey Knights both. Believing the message Gyrus received from the Emperor to refer to Farus, Sanctus Grimfist has directed the Chapter to Macragge to uncover whether Farus was deluded or truly heretical. But his downfall has come with a silver lining: now the political wars driving the Chapter apart have abated, the Inquisition is more willing than before to give them a fair hearing. Even so, the dark truth behind Grimfist's rise to Master still has yet to be revealed to them – and to the Ultramarines. This visit to Macragge will be extremely consequential, if it goes ahead at all._

Gyrus stepped out of the lift and into the cool, air-conditioned bridge of the _Glory of Russala_ , looking around at the busy aides and adjutants. The whole scene was bathed in light from Aurora III as the star dipped below the horizon of the planet far below. He had been summoned from his personal quarters aboard the _Last Hope of the Weary_ to take part in a hearing being held by the Inquisition. Across the bridge was the sliding door to the communications centre, and he made for it. The room on the other side was one of two built into the trailing edge of the battle barge's lower fin, and its far wall had a tall window in the centre looking out into the void. Ulis rotated slowly below, while the underside of the vast spaceship extended away above.

Sanctus Grimfist, Chapter Master of the White Knights, was waiting for him. Like Gyrus, he wore an elaborately embroidered tunic over his Black Carapace, and he had a laurel wreath perched atop his grey hair. The golden hoops around his braids gleamed in the light of the setting sun.

Curatio Lonnar was there as well. The Master of the Forge was working at a console in the corner, the six arms of his servo-harness busily setting up a connection to the Inquisitorial Conclave. He was muttering to himself as his fingers moved over the holographic keys.

"Brother," Grimfist said, spreading his arms wide.

Gyrus stepped forward and embraced him.

"It is good to see you, my lord," he said.

"And you," Grimfist returned. "I cannot tell you how much better it feels to have such an awful weight lifted from my shoulders. With my past transgressions behind me, I can finally face the future with clear eyes. I have seen Farus for what he is."

"That is excellent to hear," Gyrus said.

Lonnar straightened up and cleared his throat.

"It's all prepared," he reported to Grimfist. "The call will go out automatically in a few minutes' time. I will be outside if you need me further."

"Thank you, Curatio," Grimfist said. "Knowledge and faith."

" _Ex machina_ ," Lonnar excused himself, and left them. The door hissed closed behind him.

"There is one thing we must discuss before this hearing begins," Grimfist said, seriously. "As you know, I remained aboard the _Temple of Holy Fury_ after Farus' arrest to discuss his crimes with Sergeant Yan Cordell of the Grey Knights."

"I remember," Gyrus nodded.

"He had something rather shocking to share with me," Grimfist said. "Contrary to what the evidence might suggest, Inquisitor Orrick was the one responsible for Captain Jarfur's death. She had him executed after she detected the Tau code in his power armour."

Gyrus' eyes widened.

"But the wound . . ." he said.

"Came from a Narthecium, I know," Grimfist cut in. "An important piece of evidence that proved the source of our concern. What we all failed to realise is that Inquisition Chirurgeons carry Narthecia just as our Apothecaries do. Your suspicions were based on the false assumption that the murderer was one of us."

"Sir," Gyrus said, "I am so sorry."

Grimfist shook his head.

"No," he said, fairly. "There is no need to apologise."

"But accusing a fellow Astarte of such a deed should not be done lightly," Gyrus pointed out.

"I quite agree," Grimfist said. "But you did not do it lightly, did you? You had every reason to believe you were right – and when I was presented with the evidence, I drew the same conclusion. We were all taken in. And no matter whether he was guilty of Jarfur's murder, there is no excuse in this galaxy for Farus' actions aboard the _Temple of Holy Fury_. I do not care how frustrated or dispirited he felt for being falsely accused. Killing a fellow Astarte is one of the most serious crimes imaginable."

Gyrus smiled at him.

"Well," he said, "I do not know what to say. Thank you, sir."

Grimfist laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

"The truth came out, and we are better for it," he concluded. "That is all that matters."

"At least Chaplain Aurelius is now exonerated from any wrongdoing," Gyrus remarked.

"He fell under Farus' influence in much the same way as I did," Grimfist said. "And he knows as much. I have discussed what happened with him, along with how let down we both feel. To his credit, he has offered to remain aboard the _Last Hope of the Weary_ and monitor Farus in our absence. I am confident the Casket is as safe in his hands as it ever was."

They took their places behind the two cogitators that would capture their likenesses so they could be represented as holograms for the other participants of the hearing. Three podiums had been set up, one for each of their fellows. Light bathed the walls as they flickered into life. A trio of projections appeared: a Grey Knight, an Ultramarine and an Inquisitor. The first was Sergeant Yan Cordell and the second Jae Lonlax, commander of all Inquisition forces in Segmentum Ultima, but the third was someone else entirely.

Chief Librarian Varro Tigurius was a legend among Astartes, which made him a living god to the everyday folk of the Imperium. Certainly he was one of the most powerful psykers to have ever lived. There were stories of his achievements: memorising every word of every tome within the Ptolemy Librarium and hundreds besides, fighting the Tyranid Hive Mind and living to tell the tale, and even communing directly with the Emperor. As a decorated military hero and veteran of countless battles he gave regular counsel to the High Lords of Terra, the Imperium's ruling body.

Gyrus could not take his eyes off him. He was just like the picts portrayed, with a thin, elegant face, pale lips and high eyebrows. The hologram had managed to capture the smouldering aura of psychic energy that emanated from his eyes, obscuring his bright blue pupils.

"Varro Tigurius," Grimfist said. "It has been too long."

" _Sanctus Grimfist_ ," Tigurius returned. " _I only wish it could be under better circumstances._ "

" _Perhaps we could set the scene before we start throwing veiled insults?_ " Lord Inquisitor Lonlax requested. " _We are here because Sanctus has requested a suspension of the verdict rendered by Inquisitor Orrick and communicated to us shortly before her death, so that he might visit Macragge. Called as a witness is Sergeant Yan Cordell_."

" _It is a pleasure to serve_ ," Cordell said.

" _Glad I am to hear it_ ," Lonlax replied. " _Sanctus, are you prepared to accept the outcome of this hearing as binding and irrevocable?_ "

"Yes," Grimfist said.

" _Correct answer_ ," Lonlax said, with a sly grin. " _Given recent events, this should not take long. I have seen from the reports you have all filed that the incident aboard Inquisitor Orrick's ship was the work of Chief Librarian Farus_."

"Former Chief Librarian," Grimfist told him. "And that is true."

" _Who is now under arrest_ ," Lonlax observed.

"He is aboard one of our vessels," Grimfist explained, "In the custody of the First Company, where he will remain during our visit to Macragge. The purpose of the visit is to seek the Ultramarines' counsel and ascertain whether his actions were guided by another hand."

" _A noble purpose, no doubt_ ," Lonlax said. " _One which speaks of decent character. I believe Sergeant Cordell has something to say on that matter?_ "

" _I do_ ," Cordell said. " _I had the pleasure of spending an extended period of time in the company of Master Grimfist after Farus' arrest, and I found him to be an honourable and proud soldier. While I do not wish to speak for him, I was given the impression that he feels personally betrayed by Farus and wants him brought to justice just as much as you do._ "

" _Thank you_ ," Lonlax said.

" _One more thing_ ," Cordell added, and took a moment to summon his thoughts. " _I would like it made clear on the record that serving under Inquisitor Orrick was a real honour. She was a fine Inquisitor and a devout servant to the Emperor and the Imperium both. If she were here, she would know where the blame rightly lies. During her investigation she never had all the facts laid out before her, but I have them before me now – and knowing both them and her character, I can say with confidence that she would consider this matter settled_."

" _She would not be alone_ ," Lonlax said. " _And I will not waste the Inquisition's time further. Master Grimfist, it seems obvious to me that the White Knights pose no threat to the peace. If you keep the promises you have made, we will have no further quarrel with you. I only ask that if you conclude that Farus' hand was guided by the Dark Gods, you turn him over to us. If not, it makes no difference how you deal with him_."

"A fair request, and one I will see carried out," Grimfist said. "Thank you, Jae."

" _Chief Librarian Tigurius_ ," Lonlax said, " _Do you also accept this verdict?_ "

" _I heartily agree with it_ ," Tigurius replied. " _I know I have been among the Inquisition's critics in the past, but I am pleased to see that logic and reason won out this day. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I was expecting these proceedings to be somewhat more contentious._ "

" _Unless you have something to add?_ " Lonlax said, amusedly.

" _Nothing_ ," Tigurius said.

Gyrus was quietly disappointed. He had been hoping to see more of him.

" _Then we shall conclude this hearing_ ," Lonlax said. " _Thank you for your time, everyone_."

His hologram flickered and faded, as did Cordell's.

Tigurius remained.

" _Sanctus_ ," he said, " _Might I have a moment, as we discussed?_ "

"Of course, Varro," Grimfist said.

Gyrus glanced at him.

"Sir?" he said.

"Did you not wonder why you were summoned here?" Grimfist said. "You were not needed for the hearing, after all."

"You mean to say . . ?" Gyrus began, and trailed off.

" _I requested your presence_ ," Tigurius said. " _So that we might discuss your future_."

"I will leave you to it," Grimfist said.

He patted Gyrus on the shoulder as he walked out of the room.

Once the door was closed, Tigurius smiled.

" _But this is far too impersonal_ ," he said. " _Close your eyes and relax your mind_."

Gyrus was not about to question his orders. He did as he was asked, and the darkness around him seemed to shift and change. When he opened his eyes once more, the communications centre had been replaced by a long, beautiful hall. Arched wooden pillars climbed high above his head and met in the centre of a curved roof. Countless shelves of books lined the walls. Running down the middle of the hall was a row of desks, each one fitted with a lamp and inlaid inkwells.

Tigurius stood before him, dressed in long cream robes. His every movement seemed smooth and calculated, as if the robes were as much a part of him as his own limbs.

"Where am I?" Gyrus said.

"You have not moved," Tigurius told him. "And neither have I. Our minds have met in the Warp; specifically, in a psychic projection of the Ptolemy Librarium on Macragge. Given the result of the hearing, I imagine you will be here in person soon enough."

"The Master said you wished to talk with me," Gyrus said. "I am deeply honoured."

"As am I," Tigurius said, to his surprise.

Gyrus frowned.

"You are, my lord?" he said. "But why?"

"I understand this is something of a shock to you, given you have no psychic powers of your own," Tigurius said, slowly, "But there is a presence attached to yours. A beacon. It has been there for some time now. Sanctus tells me you received a message from the Emperor?"

" _Love can be drawn from others_ ," Gyrus recalled, " _But hatred comes from inside. Look into your own soul to find true evil_."

"That message was given to your Chapter by Roboute Guilliman, in the form of an inscription within a golden chalice," Tigurius said.

"Yes," Gyrus agreed. "We believe it applies to Farus."

"It certainly seems possible that _true evil_ resides within his soul," Tigurius admitted. "But I do not think him the subject of the prophecy."

"Prophecy?" Gyrus repeated.

"The phrase is not new," Tigurius explained. "In fact, it is immensely old. There is no-one in this or any other galaxy better versed in the works of the Primarch Guilliman than I. I have discussed his predictions with his Father and we have come to a conclusion."

"I am sorry," Gyrus said, in shock, "His . . . his Father? You cannot mean . . ."

"Both the Emperor and I are of the same opinion," Tigurius went on. "That the time may have come for the implementation of a plan thousands of years old. There is much to be done, and not long in which to do it. Farus is but one part of a larger machine. Dark powers have their eyes trained on the Sagittarius Arm and the worlds at its heart."

"Macragge and Russala," Gyrus said. "They are in danger?"

"I do not yet know," Tigurius said. "There have been many occasions over the centuries when we have thought Guilliman's prophecy might apply, and this is as likely a candidate as any. We will know more when you visit Macragge."

"Then I am keen to meet with you upon our arrival," Gyrus said.

"And I you," Tigurius returned. "Now, I have other business to attend to. Before I depart, I have one more question: where is Farus now?"

Gyrus folded his arms and smiled.

"He is being kept aboard one of our ships," he said. "In a safe and secure location, where he can do no more harm to anyone."


	47. S6 E2: The Traitor

Series VI - Ultramar

Episode II - The Traitor's Hand

 _It is as Grimfist hoped: the Chapter is not considered a threat by the Inquisition and has been given clearance to make the journey to Macragge. With the Tau on Ulis defeated and Farus jailed, he is hoping the trip will serve to answer his questions about his closest ally's betrayal. But all is not as it seems. Chief Librarian Tigurius of the Ultramarines is worried that events have been set in motion that cannot be undone – and Farus must now face the consequences of his actions. He must choose where his loyalties lie, unaware that the choice has already been made for him._

The shrill ring of the buzzer filled the air as the set of heavy iron bars slid aside. One by one the lights came on, illuminating the long and foreboding corridor all the way to the faded mural of the Emperor painted on the wall at its end.

Farus was pushed roughly through the doorway by the two Astartes behind him. His wrists were secured together by thick iron manacles and his ankles were chained together, forcing him to shuffle forward slowly and awkwardly. He kept his head down and his eyes fixed on the floor.

Sitting in the cells along the corridor were Imperial Guardsmen who had been caught deserting on Ulis and handed over to the White Knights for punishment. Even the most imposing among their number shrank away from the bars as Farus and his escorts thumped past. They could all sense the importance of what they were watching.

"Do not move," one of the Astartes barked, as his companion keyed a code into the pad on the wall beside the last of the cell doors.

Farus offered no reply.

Another buzzer sounded and the door slid across.

"Inside," the Marine ordered, once they had removed his restraints.

Farus did as he was told. The space had only Spartan furnishings; a rough-cut wooden bench, a latrine and a bed too small to fit his muscular frame. He lowered himself slowly onto the bench, still staring at the floor.

The bars slid back across, locking the cell, and shutters descended from above to keep him out of view of the other inmates. A series of heavy pneumatic bolts rammed home into thick housings to secure them in place. Darkness fell.

He looked up and gave a deep sigh as the world around his own began to drop away. The featureless ferrocrete of the walls twisted and warped. In their place was an endless expanse of darkness, a night hung with countless stars. Nebulae and galaxies swirled around him. This was the sanctity of the Warp, the realm where he could find peace. It was the only place he could truly be alone.

 _Except you are not alone, are you, Farus?_

"Who is there?" he demanded.

His own voice echoed back to him a thousand times.

 _Who do you think?_

Swirling energies of darkness span themselves into existence before him, dancing into ancient and arcane shapes. He watched, unable to tear his eyes away, a blinding red light burst from within. It moulded itself into the form of a tall, imposing figure with curling horns rising above its head and long robes falling down from its shoulders.

Samovar von Guyen stepped from the light.

 _You have done well_ , he said. Farus could hear his voice even though his lips did not move.

"I failed Sanctus," Farus said.

 _That is as may be_ , von Guyen replied, _but you have caught the eye of powers far greater than him. No other psyker in the Chapter would have been able to face so many of his fellow Astartes in battle and emerge victorious._

"That was _not_ me!" Farus cried. "You guided my hand!"

 _Indeed I did – and in doing so, I granted you abilities you could have never imagined._

"And I am supposed to thank you?" Farus demanded.

 _You will, in time_ , von Guyen promised him. _For now, there are more pressing matters to attend to. You are still labouring under the delusion that your honour and rank will be restored_.

"I will prove myself to Sanctus," Farus growled. "I have done nothing wrong."

 _Humour me for one moment_ , von Guyen requested. _Reach the Astronomican_.

Farus cast his mind further into the Warp, feeling through its currents and energies for the beacon he used to light his path. He felt his heart sink as he realised he could feel nothing, just a haunting emptiness that seemed to well up inside his soul.

 _It is not there_ , von Guyen said. _I know what you know. I feel what you feel._

"Then I truly cannot go back," Farus whispered.

 _We are one now_ , von Guyen told him. _And I am offering you a way to reclaim the power that is rightfully yours. Long ago, I struck a bargain with the Chaos Gods. In exchange for corrupting the Casket of Tears that had been secreted away on Ulis, they would tie my fate to its fate. You have already been granted a taste of the power they can afford. Now you too can bargain with them_.

Farus nodded to himself.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

 _The one you call Aurelius will soon visit with you in the real world_ , von Guyen explained. _And when he does, you will use your powers to show him the truth, just as I did to you._

There was a long pause.

"I will do as you ask," Farus said.

Von Guyen faded from view and the vision dropped away. Concrete walls and iron bars reformed themselves until he was back in the cell. As promised, the heavy shutters were retracting so Aurelius could enter. They slid back into place once more at a command from one of the Marines posted in the corridor outside.

"Farus," Aurelius said, as he sat on the small bed facing him. "It is good to see you."

"Why did they send you here?" Farus asked.

"The Chapter Master wanted me to check up on you," Aurelius said. "To appraise your condition. He is still trying to understand your actions aboard the _Temple of Holy Fury_ . . . and I must admit, I am as well. What were you thinking, turning against your fellow Astartes?"

"Inquisitor Orrick planned to excommunicate us," Farus said, bitterly. "I was not prepared to let that happen. As for the Grey Knights, they were following her orders to arrest me."

"Four of our own lie dead as well," Aurelius pointed out.

"They would not obey me," Farus spat.

"You had commanded them to fire on their fellows," Aurelius said. "What did you expect?"

Farus gave him no reply, just stared at the floor.

Aurelius sighed heavily.

"I crossed paths with Gyrus on the way here," he said, changing the subject to elicit more of a response. "The Master plans to promote him to Sergeant after his support for your apprehension. He will be replacing Piraeus."

"And what of _my_ place?" Farus said. "In the Apostles?"

"Your replacement has not yet been decided," Aurelius replied. "That much is unlikely until the Chapter returns from Macragge with some of our questions answered. But I know what you are driving at – and yes, there is a chance it will be me."

"Then does your presence here not represent a conflict of interest?" Farus said.

"I will stand up for you as long as I am able," Aurelius assured him, kindly. "Yet only if you can help me see where you went wrong. At the moment, it is easy to read the facts and conclude that you have fallen under a malicious influence."

Farus scoffed.

"Sanctus thinks as much, does he?" he said.

"He is trying to avoid jumping to conclusions," Aurelius said. "As are we all. Farus, my friend, you will need to give me more than this if I am to defend you."

"Perhaps I do not want to cooperate," Farus snarled. "What would I stand to gain by that? My fate is death either way, be it at the hand of the White Knights or the Inquisition."

"You could try to clear your name before it comes to that," Aurelius said, gently. "The Lexicon teaches us that honour breeds honour. We can achieve our goals through cooperation or on our own, but take the second road and we store up trouble for ourselves in the future. That is the mistake you are paying for right now. Why make it again?"

Farus considered his words. He could feel Samovar von Guyen's presence in the back of his mind, observing their conversation closely and drawing up plans. Von Guyen's energy was intertwined with his own. That reminded him of the Chaos Gods' generosity. They had trusted him thus far, granting him abilities he did not know existed, and now it seemed only fair of them to demand repayment. Von Guyen had gained immortality, at least as long as the Casket survived. Could he ask for something similar, he wondered, in return for his loyalty?

 _Yes_ , von Guyen whispered in his ear. _Anything._

"I tried honour," Farus muttered. "I tried loyalty, Aurelius. But they would not have it."

"Remain calm," Aurelius said.

Farus was on his feet.

"They would not have it!" he repeated. "All I ever wanted was to further the Knights' cause. When I killed Josephine Orrick, when I felt her mind crushed in the Warp . . . I thought it would all be over. Why did Sanctus not come to my side, as he always has?"

Aurelius stood as well.

"He cannot be seen to support a heretic," he said, simply.

"So what is what I am," Farus dejectedly concluded.

Aurelius laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Brother," he said. "Listen to me. The Emperor can be mysterious sometimes, cryptic even. It is in the nature of faith that you will give more than you ever get. But you are a Librarian. You know full well how much He loves us. If ever you need comfort, open your heart and mind in prayer. The Master will come to understand your actions, even if he does not agree with them."

Farus' eyes flashed.

"And what if He is not there?" he whispered.

"The Master?" Aurelius said, with a frown.

"No," Farus hissed. "The Emperor."

The mood in the cell instantly shifted as the lights seemed to fade a little.

Farus' psychic powers reached out to envelop them both. He dampened their sound so the guards outside would not hear and took hold of the bolts securing the shutters in place to prevent them from ever unlocking.

"I do not understand," Aurelius said, backing away from him warily.

"I cannot feel Him, Aurelius," Farus said. "Ever since what happened on the _Temple of Holy Fury_ , there is nothing in the Warp. No presence, no Astronomican . . . His being is gone. It is as if I have lost touch. There is something wrong with me."

"This must be some manner of joke," Aurelius spluttered.

"Believe me," Farus purred, "It is no joke."

"I must tell the Master," Aurelius realised.

Before he could move, Farus had reached out and taken him by the arm. His grip was light but immense power flowed through his fingers and rooted Aurelius to the spot.

"Yet I can feel _other_ presences, Aurelius," he said, his eyes wide and staring. "They are out there, and they listen to me. When I am worried, when I have my doubts about my loyalty, they speak to me. There are kind and caring."

"Release me," Aurelius ordered. "This is wrong!"

"Is it?" Farus demanded. "That is not what they tell me."

"Guards!" Aurelius barked.

"They cannot hear you," Farus told him. "But the Dark Ones can. Let me show them to you."

Lightning bolts shot from his forehead and wrapped themselves around Aurelius' skull, forming a web of light.

He screamed and writhed in pain.

"Ssh," Farus hushed.

And the sound was gone, replaced with a hollow cough. Aurelius' hands shot to his temples and he ripped at his hair in agony. The aura of malicious energy permeated his mind, soaking into his very consciousness and corrupting it. His one organic pupil burst open, blood blossoming through jelly, and then stitched itself together once more on an unspoken command. Its two halves sealed, flashed red once, and faded.

"You see?" Farus said. "This is what true power feels like."

Aurelius straightened his neck with an awful crack. His voice was suddenly smooth.

"I understand," he said. "I see it now."

Samovar von Guyen materialised in the cell beside them in a burst of smoke and flame. He was a projection of their psyches, a Warp being visible only to the two of them.

 _Recall the words of Horus_ , he said, his voice resonating inside their heads. _When the traitor's hand strikes, it strikes with the strength of a legion_.


	48. S6 E3: First Captain

Series VI - Ultramar

Episode III - First Captain

 _Farus has finally succumbed to the dark temptations of Chaos, and he is not alone: Chaplain Aurelius has been dragged into heretical practices along with him. With this dramatic turn of events unknown to them, the rest of the Chapter is preparing to set off for Macragge. They will be leaving behind some of their most trusted and formidable warriors, including the First Captain, newly returned from a tour with the Deathwatch. But even as they move to put the harrowing events on Ulis behind them, dark plans are being drawn up that will shape the future of the Chapter and the galaxy both._

Gyrus strode along the length of the Astropaths' Hall, his long black cloak trailing out behind him with the speed of his strides. He had spent the better part of a day meticulously cleaning his sacred power armour in preparation for the Apostles' meeting. Now it shone with brilliant white and royal blue in the glow from the chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. The space was filled with the constant chattering of the Astropaths as they worked to understand the currents and eddies of the Warp, but his helmet's autosenses filtered most of it out and his Lyman's ear eliminated the rest. He reached the grand, arched doors to the Amplifier Chamber and stepped through.

The room was smaller than its entrance made it look. He had only set foot in it a few times, the first time for his initiation into the Apostles and once or twice since to look around, and it always surprised him with its intimacy – a perfect setting, he thought, for a secretive group of trusted advisors to meet. The eyes of the steely Aquila suspended over the golden altar in the centre still glowed with artificial inner light. Its spread wings were polished and shining.

"Brother," Grimfist said.

He was the only person there.

"My lord," Gyrus said. "Where are the others?"

"I have something I must discuss with you," Grimfist explained.

Unlike Gyrus he wore no armour, but in its place was a set of immaculate white robes with sleeves embroidered with swirling patterns of silver thread. Here and there they took the shape of holy icons and symbols. He had replaced the augmetic implant in his right cheek with another made to fit the same socket. It bore the golden chalice of the Knights.

Gyrus pointed to it.

"Is that new?" he asked.

"On the contrary," Grimfist said, "It is very old. It belonged to Dominicus Nero in the last months of his life. He often found his memory fading him and required the aid of implants."

"Do you require the same?" Gyrus said.

"Thankfully, no," Grimfist told him, with a smile. "But now that we have put all this business with Farus behind us for the time being, I am feeling more assured in my position as Chapter Master. Perhaps now I can begin aspiring to the kind of accomplishments Nero saw in me."

Gyrus nodded.

"You truly admire him still," he said, respectfully.

"He guides me even now," Grimfist explained. "From beyond the grave."

There was a brief pause.

"But enough morbidity for one day," Grimfist joked. "As I said, there is something I need to discuss. It concerns our upcoming visit to Macragge."

"Of course," Gyrus said. "Anything."

"As you know, Marneus Calgar and I enjoy a close relationship," Grimfist said. "And so it might surprise you to learn that he does not know the whole truth about how I took the position of Master. During our time on his world, I intend to tell him."

"That is a surprise," Gyrus agreed. "But are you sure revealing the truth is wise? We have only just cleared our name with the Inquisition, and if they were find out . . ."

"Let them," Grimfist said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The culture of dishonesty that has plagued our Chapter for so long must be cleansed. We are either open about our failings, or we are not. But rest assured, I will keep silent until after you have met with Varro Tigurius."

He glanced at the doors.

"And one more thing," he went on. "In light of your recent actions to secure the future of our Chapter, I am promoting you to Sergeant in Piraeus' place."

Gyrus smiled within his helmet. The move was not entirely unexpected, but it was flattering nonetheless. He signed the Aquila over his breastplate.

"My lord," he said, "I cannot thank you enough."

Grimfist returned the sign.

"There is no need to thank me at all," he said. "You have earned this. Return to Stock Officer Hammond before our departure and he will kit you out with your equipment."

Sergeants' helmets bore a blue stripe down the centre, and their right shoulderpads were filled with black rather than white to mark them out from the rank and file.

Gyrus was contemplating the promotion when the doors opened once more.

Harlus came through, followed by Lonnar. Farus was absent.

"Brothers," Grimfist greeted them. "Thank you for being present. Let us begin."

They all gathered before the altar and knelt.

"O most mighty Emperor," Grimfist prayed, "Watch over us as we make our journey to the planet Macragge, resting place of Your favoured son. Guide our path in these perilous times. Today we pray not only for ourselves but for Farus. He has strayed from Your path and become blind to Your light. We ask that his soul might find peace despite the transgressions of his mind."

There was a respectful pause.

"Our meeting today will be dedicated to the memory of those who lost their lives as a result of Farus' actions," Grimfist explained. "Second Captain Harlus, as the four dead Knights were of your Company, I now call upon you to invoke the last rites of the Adeptus Astartes."

Harlus signed the Aquila.

" _For Russala and for duty_ ," he recited. " _For past and future, for Terra and the Emperor_."

" _No brother falls forgotten_ ," they all chorused.

After a moment's pause, they rose to their feet once more.

"Too many of our meetings recently have opened with such a dedication," Grimfist remarked. "But no more. We now have a precious chance to put all this behind us, and it is one I intend to take. Some of you may already know that First Captain Malum has returned to us at this pivotal moment."

Lonnar and Harlus both nodded understandingly, but Gyrus hadn't heard the news.

"That is most fortunate," he said.

"Indeed it is, brother," Grimfist said. "He will be remaining here while we visit Macragge, along with the Company he commands. They are garrisoning the _Last Hope of the Weary_ in our absence. Second Captain Harlus will remain as well, since it is his ship."

"An unusual state of affairs," Harlus admitted. "But a necessary one."

"We live in unusual times," Grimfist reminded him. "And this arrangement is not without its uses. It will allow the _Weary_ to assist with the rebuilding efforts down on Ulis. The planetary government is reforming and we have been contacted by Segmentum Command for assistance in selecting a new Governor. There is also the matter of taking on supplies for our _next_ move."

"Which is?" Lonnar asked.

"Pursuing the Tau in the Damocles Gulf," Grimfist told him. "We have broken their back and killed their Commander. Now I intend to press the advantage. With the _Weary_ fully stocked and loaded upon our return from Macragge, the Second Company can lead the charge. But just because we are turning our vision to what is next does not mean we are blind to what has happened. After our departure this evening I will be holding a feast in my office to celebrate Ulis' liberation."

"Hear hear," Harlus said, approvingly.

" _Ex machina_ ," Lonnar added. "I can barely remember the last time we had something so significant to celebrate. I anticipate it eagerly."

"As do I," Gyrus said. He had never been invited to such an event before.

"That means ceremonial robes," Grimfist reminded them. "Gyrus, since you do not yet have a set for yourself you will have to wear Piraeus'. That will serve as a fitting reminder of his nobility."

"Congratulations on the promotion, too," Harlus said, to Gyrus. "I am proud to have you as one of my Sergeants. I will be in touch shortly about the responsibilities of the position."

"Well done, Astarte," was all Lonnar said, but Gyrus saw the approving gleam in his eye.

Grimfist looked around at them all in turn.

"And that is all for today," he concluded. "Consider yourselves dismissed. Harlus, I must speak with you further concerning your duties in our absence."

Gyrus left them to their discussion and followed Lonnar out through the doors and back into the Astropaths' Hall. They made for the lift at the far end.

"You're climbing the ladder," Lonnar observed.

"This is no surprise," Gyrus said.

"How very immodest," Lonnar said, with a chuckle. "But no, it's not – and I can't think of a better reason for a promotion."

He called the lift and they waited for it to arrive.

"Gyrus," Lonnar said, a touch awkwardly, "You know gratitude doesn't come easily to me, especially in dealing with those as blind to the truth as you. Members of the Adeptus Mechanicus are taught that all things, good and bad both, flow from the Machine God. It is the origin of the phrase _ex machina_. The creed teaches that any event is simply part of a larger scheme. Our victories and losses are not our own."

The lift arrived.

Lonnar gave a sigh as they stepped inside.

"But," he said, heavily, "I have been considering how to put my thoughts in terms you would understand. Both you and I draw upon scripture in our times of need. I would like to share with you a verse from Techpriest Garal."

"Master," Gyrus said, kindly, "I am honoured."

" _Remember as you enter battle_ ," Lonnar said, " _You are but a part of the whole. You are but one amongst millions. Remember that your weapons are more than metal; the flame of spiritual fire burns strong in your soul and adds power to your cause. Smite those that disbelieve, for they have turned from the light and fallen. Know that the prayers of delivery will protect you from danger, and that you have nothing to fear except misplaced mercy. Go forth with pride and glory_."

Gyrus took a moment to let the words sink in.

"You have my deepest thanks," he said, as the lift arrived at the cathedral level. "None of these truths would have come to light if not for you."

"If not for _us_ ," Lonnar said, with a smile, and then he was back to his usual frowning self. "And you are merely fortunate to have caught me on a special occasion."

Gyrus looked ahead to see a colossal wall of Space Marine approaching them.

Accendo Malum, First Company Captain of the White Knights, as almost as tall out of his Terminator armour as he was inside it. His skin was as black as the darkest night and his neck as thick as Gyrus' leg. A pair of brown eyes were hidden under a stern brow and the dreadlocked hair that was traditional on his homeworld. Malum was a son of Pathonia, picked up during the Knights' expedition to Stygies XI. He was most famous for his meteoric rise to fame during the Deltha campaign, which had seen him promoted from a humble Third Company Marine to his current position. There were rumours that he had duelled an Eldar Farseer with only his bare hands.

Gyrus knew him better as a career soldier and not a politician; since being given access to the history of the Apostles, he had read that Malum had refused a place among their ranks not once or twice, but four times. With that fact in mind it occurred to him how lucky Malum had been to be serving with the Deathwatch during the liberation of Ulis.

"Curatio Lonnar," he said, his voice deep and booming. "Knowledge and faith."

" _Ex machina_ ," Lonnar greeted him.

They shook hands firmly.

"By the Machine, Accendo, you look fitter than ever," Lonnar said. "All your training must've done you a world of good."

"And then some," Malum agreed. "And who is this?"

Lonnar gestured to Gyrus.

"Allow me to introduce _Sergeant_ Gyrus of the Second Company," he said.

"Ah yes," Malum said, amusedly. "Our latest controversy."

"Thankfully not anymore," Gyrus replied, shaking his hand in turn. His grip was incredibly strong, which for an Astarte was saying a lot.

"Well, there's one thing I can say for certain," Lonnar said. "With you aboard the _Weary_ , Farus will think twice before putting a toe out of line. You know there's a cult forming around you?"

"Tell me you are joking," Malum said.

"No such luck," Lonnar told him. "Sanctus is moving to stamp it out, but it's growing fast. Some scout in the Tenth Company decided you were a manifestation of the Emperor."

"I suppose I should be flattered," Malum laughed.

"How was your time with the Deathwatch?" Gyrus asked.

"Words cannot describe it," Malum said, breathlessly. "They revel in the thrill of battle even more than we do. Every campaign, every combat even, is perfectly balanced and calculated. I only wish I could tell you of the conflicts we fought."

"On behalf of the Inquisition," Lonnar reminded him.

"A concept I am told is political suicide around here," Malum said. "Now I am hearing stories about Josephine Orrick and Chief Librarian Farus. What in the Emperor's name happened while I was away? I never imagined . . ."

He trailed off.

"Shocking, I know," Lonnar said, sadly. "But behind us now. Whatever his motivations, Farus is being held to account for his crimes."

Malum pointed past him to the lift.

"I am on my way to see the Master," he said. "Apparently he intends to brief me on my mission during his absence. I suspect I will not like what I hear."

"Then I will let him be the one to do the talking," Lonnar said, and shook his head slowly. "The circumstances matter not. It is very good to see you again."

"And it is good to be back," Malum said. "I will do what is necessary to heal the wounds my beloved Knights have suffered, one fair deed at a time."


	49. S6 E4: Sorcerer

Series VI - Ultramar

Episode IV - Sorcerer

 _Gyrus has finally received a long overdue promotion to Sergeant, and with it the earnest praise of Captain Harlus and Curatio Lonnar, his fellow Apostles. But all is not well as the Chapter departs for Macragge. Little do they know it, but both Farus and Chaplain Aurelius have fallen prey to the temptations of Chaos. That which the Knights feared for so long has now truly come to pass: there is a conspiracy growing within the heart of the Chapter._

The war for Ulis was over. What had begun with a promise to kill a rogue Inquisitor by sunrise had become a drawn-out battle against Commander Shi'lo of the Tau Empire and his army.

Aboard the _Glory of Russala_ , all thoughts had turned to the future and their visit to Macragge, a night's travel away. Their trip would take them along the edge of the Damocles Gulf, the thin spear of Tau territory cutting across the Sagittarius Arm. In the nave of the ship's gigantic cathedral, thousands upon thousands of worshippers gathered in a communal mass service to give thanks for their victory and pray for a safe journey.

Sergeant Gyrus stood at the head of the steps leading up to the Chapter Master's office, allowing the beautiful hymns and the thundering of the organ to wash over him. With shutters covering the windows to block out the Warp in preparation for their departure, it was dusky and moody in the nave. The air was refreshingly cool.

"Gyrus," came a voice from behind him. "Will you come back in?"

He turned to see Harlus standing there.

"I must be leaving soon," Harlus said, beckoning through the open doors.

"Of course I will return, sir," Gyrus nodded. "I was enjoying the service."

Harlus smiled and stepped out of the office to stand beside him. For a few moments neither of them spoke as they listened to the ethereal music.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Harlus whispered.

"Haunting," Gyrus said, quietly.

Harlus placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I am so very proud of you, Astarte," he said. "You have earned the right to be here, and we have been happy to reward you for your efforts. With you under my command, the Second Company can achieve great things."

Gyrus smiled at him, but he knew it was a reciprocal relationship: as unsettling a thought as it was, he was one of the Chapter's brightest stars, and Harlus' reputation benefitted from being his commanding officer. He had no problem with the arrangement, though. He admired Harlus immensely.

"Come," Harlus said. "A few minutes more, then we part ways."

Gyrus followed him back through the doors and into the office. A long table had been set up in the centre of the room, with rows of chairs facing each other across well-cleaned plates of food. Bottles of wine and ale sat uncorked between half-empty flagons and glasses. The whole place was lit by warm, flickering candlelight.

Master Grimfist himself sat at the head of the table, deep in conversation with Curatio Lonnar.

Harlus took his seat once more, and Gyrus did the same.

Lucius and Apothecary Narre were there too, on his request.

"I cannot wait to get back to the training centre," Narre said, as Gyrus sat down. "We have not duelled in far too long. I am afraid I might be losing my touch."

Gyrus chuckled.

"If you duel me," he said, "You will end up back in shape in no time or lying on the floor with a set of broken ribs. Are you sure that is a risk you want to take?"

"We will see," Narre said, and took a sip of his wine.

"Now," Grimfist said, speaking over them all, "A prayer, and then a toast."

All heads were bowed as he spoke.

"O most mighty and holy Emperor," he prayed, "We thank You for so quick and decisive a victory on Ulis. With Your blessing and Your eternal guidance, we have cleared the planet of the taint of xenos. It is in times like these, as we celebrate our conquest, that we must remember how much we owe to You. We proudly stand as humanity's first and last line of defence, but even we may never aspire to Your greatness. Knowledge and faith."

They echoed the mantra together.

"To the toast, then," Grimfist concluded, with a laugh. "My friends – old and new alike – I cannot express in words how happy I am. With so many enemies standing before us, it heartens me to know I have you all at my back. To the White Knights."

"To the White Knights!" they roared, and drank deeply from their glasses.

Harlus pushed back his chair and stood.

"Much as I would love to stay and drink with you all," he said, "I have responsibilities elsewhere. I will take your best wishes to First Captain Malum."

"Recall the details of your assignment," Grimfist reminded him. "Keep an eye on Farus."

"I will," Harlus promised. "Thank you – all of you. Knowledge and faith."

They gave him a chorus of replies.

He said his goodbyes and bowed out of the room.

An hour or so later, as Aurora III sank slowly below the planet's horizon, the _Glory of Russala_ launched herself out of reality and into the Warp, ripping a glimmering hole in the void of space and gliding serenely through. She left behind a world freed from the grips of war, where life would begin anew in a slow return to normal. Ulis' country estates and hulking hives had been purged of the Tau scum in the name of the Emperor and of the Imperium. The only element of the Chapter that remained was the destroyer _Last Hope of the Weary_ , hanging in low orbit like a shark surveying its prey. For a week, she would take on new fuel and supplies from the surface, kick-starting the fragile economy and giving a much-needed morale boost to the populace.

But all was not as calm as it seemed.

Farus strode along the length of the _Weary_ 's Reclusiam, his long cloak fluttering out behind him. He wore a set of dark robes fashioned from shimmering energy and carried an arcane staff in his newly withered hand. The dark powers of Chaos were beginning to reshape him in their image.

Aurelius was waiting for him. He was pacing back and forth anxiously before the altar.

"You made it," he said, keenly. "I had wondered . . ."

"Trust in me," Farus smoothly replied. "With my newfound abilities, convincing the guards outside to unlock my cell proved trivial. They still believe I am in their custody."

"And no-one saw you on your way here?" Aurelius asked.

"The perception filer worked perfectly," Farus boasted. "I was able to roam the corridors freely. It will dupe any living being, so long as they are not actively searching for me."

"Then we had better keep you clear of Captains Harlus and Malum," Aurelius remarked. "They have been given two rooms in the officers' quarters, on the upper decks. I have received no indication that they believe a plan is afoot."

"Never mind about them," Farus snapped. "Do you have it?"

Aurelius gave a broad smile. Muttering a dark incantation under his breath, he reached below the altar and pulled out the Casket of Tears.

"I had forgotten how perfect it is," Farus breathed, excitedly.

"The voices are plain to hear," Aurelius told him. "We must find a way of opening the Casket so that Samovar von Guyen can take physical form. Unfortunately, in my deluded state, I placed a number of holy wards upon it. Only one of pure mind and spirit can do what must be done."

"No matter," Farus said, dismissively. "There is a garrison of Imperial Guardsmen aboard this vessel. One of them will serve as the perfect specimen."

Aurelius hid the Casket beneath the altar once more.

"But that can wait," he said, and his eyes flashed with enthusiasm. "I promised you a way to seize control, and I have delivered. There is a secret lift linking the Reclusiam with the chapel adjoining the bridge. Master Kandras had it installed so he could seek the counsel of the Chaplaincy without displaying his failings publicly."

"Kandras was always weak," Farus sneered.

"He has paved our path to power," Aurelius said. "In more ways than one."

Producing an auspex, he interacted with the _Weary_ 's systems and issued an order. A circular section of the vaulted ceiling came loose and began to slowly descend towards them. It was lowered to the floor by heavy iron chains.

"Ulis' infrastructure was severely damaged by the war," Aurelius explained. "And now the _Glory of Russala_ has departed, all communications are being routed through this ship. If we can cut them off, there will be no way for the loyalists to send a distress signal."

"Then I know what I must do," Farus nodded, and stepped onto the lift.

Aurelius caught him by the arm as he went.

"Remember," he said, "They cannot be allowed to call for help."

"That will not be difficult," Farus assured him.

At an order from Aurelius, the chains clanked and began to move. The platform climbed slowly towards the ceiling. Soon Farus found himself ascending a shaft lit by glowing strips flush with its sides. The stone roof above his head split apart in an iris pattern and the platform was caught by mechanical gears that pushed it upwards. He emerged through a hole in the floor of the small chapel by the bridge, just as Aurelius had said he would.

Silence fell as he strode confidently out into the control room. Aides and adjutants looked up from their workstations in shock and horror.

 _It is time_ , sounded von Guyen's voice in his ear, _for the fall of the White Knights._

Farus' eyes flashed and the air turned cold.

Ethereal strands of energy wrapped themselves around its occupants, holding them in place. The few wary enough to run were stopped in their tracks and pinned down by the blasphemous invisible forces of the Dark Gods.

The shapes of physical beings began forming throughout the room, woven together out of light itself and wrapped in glowing haloes. They morphed into twisted forms of humans, tall and lithe with blood red skin. In their hands were slim swords lined with curved teeth.

"These are Bloodletter Daemons of Chaos," Farus announced. "And they will be your doom."

On an unspoken order the Daemons advanced and began to slaughter the crew, cutting each one down with a single swipe of their blades. They sawed through flesh and stomped on the bodies.

Farus had his eyes on one of the lowly deckhands, a boy of no more than twenty. He could see the fear etched into his face as the Bloodletters worked their way towards him, killing everything in their path as they went.

At the last moment, the boy closed his eyes.

One of the Daemons ran him through with its sword, then slid its hands into the wound and ripped him apart.

Silence fell.

Every free surface was covered in blood. It dripped down the cogitator banks and puddled on the floor. The stench of death filled the cold air.

Farus crossed to the main control panel.

 _Seal off the bridge_ , von Guyen instructed him, _and the levels below. This is where it begins_.

Farus tapped a set of commands into the holographic keyboard before him. Shutters slid across the glass dome overhead. Across the ship, corridors were blocked by sheets of reinforced metal. Every staircase, passageway and lift shaft was cut off.

The Daemons snarled to themselves and stalked off to hunt for fresh prey.

 _What of the ones you call Harlus and Malum?_ von Guyen asked.

"Let them come," Farus said, speaking aloud. "These Bloodletters are but the vanguard. I will disguise myself and wander the _Weary_ , seeking a worthy mind to open the Casket."

 _You have done well_ , von Guyen told him. _Sorcerer . . ._


	50. S6 E5: The Bigger They Are

Series VI - Ultramar

Episode V - The Bigger They Are

 _With Master Grimfist and the others having departed for Macragge, Farus and Aurelius have seized control of the_ Last Hope of the Weary _and enacted their plan. With Farus in command of the ship's bridge, emergency bulkheads are being used to keep the garrison of Marines and Guardsmen divided, preventing a counterattack of any kind. But Malum and Harlus do not intend to give up without a fight. They are determined to find a way to prevail._

Second Captain Harlus thumped through the _Last Hope of the Weary_ 's officer quarters, each step accompanied by the angry hissing of his power armour. He had spent the last half an hour fighting through hordes of Chaos Daemons and finding routes around bulkheads. The crippled ship's life support systems were still functioning but basic functions such as heating and lighting had gone offline. That was no problem for him, safe as he was inside his suit, but he knew it would prove extremely demoralising to the Imperial Guardsmen aboard.

"Captain!" he called, as he reached Malum's door.

It was closed, but the lock had been torn clean out and was lying on the floor outside.

Tensing his suit and infusing his veins with adrenaline as a precaution, Harlus drew his power sword and stepped inside. The bedchamber had clearly seen combat. Black blood had pooled on the carpeted floor and splattered across the walls. Most of the furniture had been overturned.

A faint glow came from the bathroom.

Harlus' blade shimmered as he swung it warily from side to side, throwing long shadows around the room. Just as he approached the doorway, a Bloodletter Daemon was thrown past him.

It landed on the bed and was back on its feet in a moment. In its hand was a wickedly curved knife coated with dried blood.

He advanced towards it.

"Face your doom at the hand of the Emperor's finest!" First Captain Malum bellowed as he burst from the bathroom.

In contrast to Harlus he wore only a tunic. It had once been white but now it was covered with entrails and flecks of gore. As Harlus watched, he threw his own power sword towards the Daemon, pinning it to the headboard of the bed.

The Bloodletter thrashed and squealed in pain.

Harlus calmly crossed to it and snapped its scrawny neck with a deft twist of his fingers.

"Accendo," he said, as he withdrew the blade.

Malum accepted it from him.

"Brother," he nodded in return. "Are you wounded?"

"I am fine," Harlus assured him. "Yourself?"

"Never better," Malum muttered, sarcastically. "The whole ship has gone to hell. I ventured out of my rooms a few times but the corridors are filled with those _things_."

Harlus crossed to the door and swung it closed. He hauled the upturned table over to it to use as a barricade. It would give them some time to gather their thoughts.

"This must be Farus' doing," he said.

"So much for him being securely locked away," Malum said, dryly. "I have seen firsthand what the eldritch powers of Chaos are capable of. If Farus truly has struck a bargain with the Dark Gods, he could have sauntered out of that cell without so much as a second thought."

"Which means we are dealing with a Sorcerer," Harlus muttered. "Not to mention an army of Daemons that most likely occupy the entire ship by now."

"It gets worse," Malum said. "With the communications relay offline, we have no way of coordinating the response of the First Company. My men are scattered across every deck and throughout every section. It is exactly the tactic I would use if I were trying to pick my enemy off one by one."

"Divide and conquer," Harlus nodded. "Some pockets of resistance will hold their own."

"True," Malum agreed. "But not for long."

Harlus did not reply. He was deep in thought.

"What is his endgame?" he wondered, quietly.

Malum walked over and looked at him. Even out of his armour, he was so tall that his eyes were level with the glowing green lenses of Harlus' helmet.

"His endgame?" he asked.

"Yes," Harlus said. "We know he has control of the life support systems, so he must be on the bridge. That means that even reaching the communications relay manually would achieve nothing since he could simply override our efforts to reprogram it. He can also seal off parts of the vessel at will."

"And the Casket of Tears?" Malum reminded him. "Surely that is his goal."

"It must be," Harlus nodded. "But he cannot have opened it yet. If he had, he would have used it to summon perils much worse than those we have already encountered."

Malum racked his mind, trying to figure out Farus' plan.

"The _Weary_ is still in orbit of Ulis for a reason," he surmised. "And it is not to launch an attack. She is powerful, yes, and the planet's Imperial Navy detachment is weakened from the war, but she remains just one vessel. More tellingly, the powers of Chaos have shown no desire to control Ulis in the past. Why has he not made a Warp jump?"

Harlus' eyes widened inside his helmet.

"He lacks the fuel," he realised. "That was the other purpose of the _Weary_ remaining here – to resupply from the surface. There are regular shipments of fuel being brought up from refineries down below. If he can keep control of the bridge long enough, he can make a Warp jump. Doing so without the Gellar Field active would shred the minds of every pure soul aboard."

"Us included," Malum said, darkly. "Only . . . wait one moment. Pure souls!"

"What about them?" Harlus prompted.

"Only a pure soul can open the Casket of Tears," Malum said. "Master Grimfist told us as much at the briefing before his departure. He said Chaplain Aurelius had placed wards upon it such that it could not be opened by a servant of Chaos."

"You are right," Harlus remembered. "Which means Farus must be looking for an uncorrupted mind. An Astarte would be too strong; he needs a Guardsman."

"There are several dozen squads of the Ulian 21st aboard to help with the resupplying process," Malum said. "Any of them would do."

For a few moments they weighed up their options. Each came to the same conclusion.

"We split up," Malum decided, "And kill two birds with one stone. You go to the hangar bay and issue an evacuation order. I will make for the Reclusiam and seek out the Casket."

"Very well," Harlus said. "A fine plan."

He moved the table away from the door and threw it to one side. It splintered against the wall. One after the other they strode out of the room, swords raised ready for combat. The corridor outside was deserted. Only the red emergency lights were powered, bathing the entire scene in an unearthly glow. A couple of dead Guardsmen were slumped in a corner and the wall above them was dripping with blood, human and Daemon both.

"Brother," Harlus said, catching Malum by the arm before he departed, "Are you sure you will be alright without your Terminator armour?"

Malum nodded to his sword.

"I will be fine so long as I have a weapon in my hand," he growled. "Once we part ways, we will no longer be capable of communicating with each other. Good luck, brother."

"Knowledge and faith," Harlus said.

"Knowledge and faith," Malum returned, and signed the Aquila.

They turned their backs to each other and strode away in opposite directions, each towards one of the ship's central lift shafts. Neither knew if they would ever see his fellow Captain again.

By the time Harlus stepped into the lift, Malum was already out of sight around the bend at the other end of the corridor. He closed the doors with the press of a button and ordered it upwards in the direction of the hangar bay. As he did so, he gave a silent prayer of thanks that the _Weary_ 's lifts were powered by the auxiliary generators and not the main drive. After a few moments of tense silence, the lift arrived at its destination and he stepped out into the hangar.

Gunfire echoed through the yawning space. Needles of red las sparked and danced off the flanks of the shuttles sitting on the polished floor.

A squad of Imperial Guardsman was taking cover behind the piles of supplies and crates near the main hallway leading off from the hangar, trying to keep back a horde of Bloodletters that were surging towards them. They were only just managing to hold the tide at bay with a flurry of las-fire.

Harlus found himself caught between the two sides, in the perfect position to launch an attack.

Two of the Bloodletters saw him coming and turned to face him.

His visor identified them instantly as hostile and marked them with flashing strobes. The servo-motors of his arm nudged his aim ever so slightly as he raised his bolt pistol. With two sharp barks the Daemons were sent stumbling away.

Black blood and scraps of red leathery skin showered outwards as the explosive rounds detonated in turn.

That caught the attention of the other Bloodletters.

"For the White Knights!" Harlus roared, and launched himself into the fight.

He ducked under the first blade to come for him and parried the second, then thrust his sword into a corrupted torso in a spray of acidic gore. Every joint of his armour whirred and clicked as it worked to mirror the signals from his brain to his muscles. A warning sign blinked in the corner of his heads-up display, indicating that the spilled blood was eating through the adamantium of his suit, but he ignored it and battled on regardless.

Across the hangar, the Guard were seeing the effect of his arrival. They began to advance from their positions to keep the pressure on the Daemons from two fronts.

Harlus cut the neck of the nearest apparition and moved on, only to see a blade coming at him at head height. A quick sidestep to the left prevented it from meeting its mark, but it still bit deep into the padding around his elbow. He growled with the feeling of the serrated edge cutting into his skin. Sparks flew from severed cables as he shot the Bloodletter and the recoil ripped the sword free.

Now the Daemons were on the run. They were caught between two foes. Those who faced down the Guard found themselves wading into a thicket of red las, while those who turned to Harlus left their backs exposed. Within a minute or so their numbers had dwindled to just a few, and it took little effort to cut them down. An eerie silence fell in the hangar.

"Thank the Emperor you arrived when you did," one of the Guardsmen panted, as she stumbled up to Harlus. Her skin was flecked with sweat and blood.

Harlus ignored her.

"Where is your commanding officer?" he demanded, addressing the group at large.

"Colonel Tyre is dead," another soldier told him. "And we didn't have time to figure out who was in charge in his absence."

"Shout out your ranks!" Harlus barked.

He was greeted by an overlapping series of muddled replies. His Lyman's ear automatically filtered out the background noise and amplified unique sounds. The word _sergeant_ had been shouted from somewhere amongst the press.

"Sergeant," he said, his voice booming around them all. "Step forward."

They parted to allow a woman to step through. She was tall and well-built, and her physical strength was plain to see. Like her fellow female Guardsmen, her hair was tied back in a regulation bun underneath her helmet.

"I'm Sergeant Tiris Eran," she said. "And apparently I'm in charge here."

"I am in charge here," Harlus told her, flatly. "But you will bear the responsibility of getting these humans back to the planet below."

"They can evacuate?" she asked, with a smile. "Thank Terra. We were so worried we'd have to stay up here and try to fight those monsters."

"Daemons, not monsters," he corrected her. "Ignoring the cowardice of that remark, you are correct. Return to Ulis."

"Okay," she said. "I'll make sure they do that."

Her troops starting packing up their weapons and gear, eager to climb aboard the shuttles and get away from the fighting that was enveloping the _Weary_.

"Make sure _they_ do that?" Harlus repeated, as they filed past. "What about you?"

"Me?" she said. "I'm coming with you."

Harlus sighed.

"I have no time for the amateur dramatics of mortals," he said. "And however earnest your designs may be, you will only slow me down."

"But I want to fight," she insisted. "It's personal. A couple of the Troopers here came from the Reclusiam, and they say that a group of Guardsmen is being held hostage there. One of them is a good friend of mine. Please, let me help save him."

He considered what she had said. It validated Malum's theory that Farus was looking for a pure soul to open the Casket of Tears. That made it all the more important that he rejoin the First Captain and reach the Reclusiam as soon as possible.

Tiris looked him up and down as he thought to himself. She recognised his golden shoulderpad as denoting his rank, and the numeral II painted on his other shoulder in black confirmed her suspicions.

"You have my thanks for that valuable information," he was saying. "And yet the answer is no. It is simply a bad tactical decision for me to allow . . ."

"I know you," she cut him off. "You're Captain Harlus of the Second Company."

"So I am," he agreed. "And I am just as intolerant of being interrupted as any Astartes."

"Sorry," she hastily apologised. "It's just . . . my friend, the one being held hostage . . . _he_ knows you. He's mentioned you before. Perhaps you remember a Corporal Verrel?"

Harlus cast his mind back. She was right. That was the man he had defended from Jarfur all those weeks ago, not long after the Knights' arrival on Ulis. He had heard of Verrel's assignment to the squad that confronted Samovar von Guyen at the hospital, and the horrible things he had been tricked into doing by the dark forces of Chaos. If Farus had someone so susceptible in his psychic grasp, he would certainly be able to open the Casket. Hopefully Tiris could help Verrel see sense.

"Very well," he said to her. "You may join me."

"Thank you," she said, gratefully.

"As for the rest of you," he went on, raising his voice, "Relay the following message to what remains of the Ulian Navy: they are to assemble their ships in orbit, ready for an attack on the _Last Hope of the Weary_. If three hours pass from this moment and they have received no order to stand down from me or any other White Knight, they are cleared to fire. If the _Weary_ engages them before that time limit passes, _they are cleared to fire_. Am I understood?"

The Guardsmen climbing into the shuttles chorused their answer.

"Excellent," he said, and made for the doors.

Tiris hurried to catch up with him.

"Three hours isn't exactly a long time," she said, trying not to let the worry show in her voice.

"If we cannot stop Farus soon, we will never get the chance for a second attempt," he explained. "It is all the time we need . . . but granted, it is not long in which to kill a Chaos Sorcerer."

She chuckled to herself.

"Hey," she said, slotting a new power cell into her rifle. "You know what they say. The bigger they are . . ."


	51. S6 E6: Macragge

Series VI - Ultramar

Episode VI – Macragge

 _In orbit of Ulis, Captain Harlus has put a plan into place: he and Sergeant Tiris Eran of the Ulian Imperial Guard will meet up with Captain Malum and assist him in stopping Farus before he can open the Casket of Tears. Meanwhile, dozens of light-years away, the rest of the Chapter has finally arrived at Macragge, to find the Ultramarines waiting to greet them with open arms._

The Thunderhawk's deep, regal blue paint gleamed in the light from the cathedral's hundreds of hanging chandeliers as it descended through the forcefield and touched down in the landing area. Emblazoned on its polished flank was the white U of the Ultramarines, along with countless verses of holy scripture picked out in minute golden lettering. For a few moments it sat on the tiled floor, engines cooling down with a descending whine, before its ramp swung slowly downwards.

"Astartes!" barked Grimfist, from the head of the formation.

All two hundred Knights assembled in ranks behind him snapped to attention with the clunk of heavy boots. The entire nave fell silent.

A squad of Ultramarines strode out of the Thunderhawk's crew compartment, all clad in power armour with white tassels hanging from the necks of their cloaks and tabards from their waists. They formed up in a semicircle around Grimfist.

In their footsteps came a Marine half a head taller than the rest, wearing a set of custom power armour to suit his immense height and size. It was bedecked with golden edging and symbols of the Imperium, along with the capital U repeated in several places among its thick plates. The standard helmet had been augmented with a plume of red and white fur. Its wearer thumped down the ramp and stood before Grimfist. He reached up, removed the helmet with a click and a hiss, and slung it nonchalantly under an arm.

Second Company Captain Cato Sicarius of the Ultramarines was one of the Imperium's most famous heroes. His gaunt face was half-hidden beneath unruly blonde hair. A scar had been drawn all the way up his left cheek and through his eye, which had turned pearly white with blindness.

Gyrus had a clear view of him from his place among the delegation bound for the surface, and he couldn't help but look him up and down. All the honours he was famous for holding hung on chains around his armoured neck: the Aquila, the Eternium Ultra, the Imperial Laurel, the Honorifica Valum, the Victorex Alpha and his own personal heraldry too. Each of them had been polished to perfection by aides and servitors and they all stood out against the intense blue behind them.

Sicarius was known for being as much a statesman as a warrior. Born into an ascendant noble house on the planet Talassar, he had learned martial arts and swordcraft as soon as he was strong enough to hold a blade.

"May I present," Grimfist said, "The Master of the Watch, Knight-Champion of Macragge, Grand Duke of Talassar and High Suzerain of Ultramar . . . Cato Sicarius."

Every head in the nave bowed in unison to show their respect.

"It is an honour to host you on our word," Sicarius said, his voice clipped and measured. "Though we understand that these are difficult times for your Chapter, I have been instructed to extend my gratitude for your visit and my sympathy at your predicament. On behalf of Marneus Calgar of the Ultramarines, I come bearing an official invitation for a handpicked group of Astartes to accompany me down to Macragge's surface, where they will be given lodgings and treated with the reverence they deserve. I believe these Astartes have already been chosen."

"You believe correctly," Grimfist nodded.

"Very well," Sicarius said. "If those chosen could please join me in the Thunderhawk before you, we shall depart."

Gyrus, Narre, Lucius and Lonnar stood at ease and broke rank. They were ushered by the Ultramarines up the ramp and into the crew compartment. Sicarius, Grimfist and the rest of their escorts joined them a few moments later. They took their places and removed their helmets.

"I feel some more personal introductions are necessary," Sicarius said, a wry smile splitting his face as the ramp slid upwards. "These are not faces I recognise."

The Thunderhawk shook as it climbed back through the forcefield protecting the hole in the cathedral's roof. It sailed clear of the _Glory of Russala_ and its nose dipped as it adopted a new heading.

"Both our First and Second Captains have remained in orbit of Ulis," Grimfist said, "And Third Captain Jarfur is tragically deceased, with his replacement yet to be chosen. The Astartes you see before you are Sergeant Gyrus of our Second Company, Apothecary Narre and brother Lucius of the same – and Curatio Lonnar, Master of the Forge."

"Master of the Forge," Sicarius repeated, rolling the words around in his mouth. "It is a shame that Fennias Maxim is currently engaged on a mission in the Damocles Gulf, or I am sure he would have liked to have met you."

"And I him," Lonnar returned. "It would be a real honour to converse with the man responsible for the upkeep of the Fortress of Hera."

"It is no easy task, or so I am told," Sicarius agreed. "And in return, I am sure he would have been curious to know what you were doing attached to a diplomatic delegation."

"The arrangement is unusual, I know," Grimfist said. "But so are many of our arrangements of late. These are four of the Astartes who helped bring Farus' treachery and scheming to light. They helped me see him for what he truly is."

"Well, then," Sicarius said, warmly, "I can think of no more suitable a group. Master Calgar will be delighted to meet with you all."

"When will that be, exactly?" Lucius said.

"It will be tonight," Sicarius told him, "At a feast held in your honour. In the meantime, if it is an introduction to the ways of the Ultramarines you wish for, I would invite you to regard the panorama laid out for you. We are approaching the surface."

Gyrus looked through the viewport cut into the hull beside him.

Flames had wrapped themselves around the Thunderhawk's hull as it speared down through the atmosphere, licking hungrily up its flanks towards the bases of its wings. It took a minute or two for the ride to smoothen out. The gunship burst through into the azure blue sky, giving them all a spectacular view of the Hera's Crown mountain range. A series of snow-capped peaks punctured the blanket of fluffy clouds that hung constantly above the planet's northern reaches. Macragge was a garden world, with air safe to breathe for Astartes and even humans, and known for being one of the most beautiful in the Imperium. Millions of pilgrimages were made to its surface every year, more specifically to the site where the Primarch Guilliman was permanently entombed.

"By all the creeds of Mars," Lonnar gasped as the clouds parted, "That is incredible."

Spread out before them was Magna Macragge Civitas, the capital of the planet and the kingdom of Ultramar both. It was a beautiful carpet of shining quartz and glimmering multicoloured windows, reaching from the sandy shores of the Gulf of Lycum all the way to the foothills of the mountains. The Laponis River divided it in two, a sliver of blue with sunlight dancing off its surface that linked a long, slim delta to a series of giant waterfalls that spilled from between two peaks and stretched a thousand feet down to a pool hidden amongst the forested hills at their base. Beside Hera's Falls, as they were known, was the legendary Fortress of Hera itself, one of the most renowned holdfasts known to man. Designed by the Primarch during his time as leader of the Ultramarines Legion before the Horus Heresy, it was a staggered series of sheer white fortifications capped by tapering spires and elegant geodesic domes that overlooked the city far below. Each soaring tower was linked to its neighbours by a series of slim glass walkways teeming with pilgrims and soldiers. Rising over it all, its roof capped by a stained-glass dome, was the Temple of Correction.

"Do you see it, brother?" Narre asked, pointing it out to Gyrus.

"I do," he said.

"You know what awaits us there," Narre said.

Gyrus nodded. Within the sepulchre at the Temple of Correction's heart sat Roboute Guilliman himself, staring out over the valley to watch over his Ultramarines.

"Quite a sight, is it not?" Sicarius said. "You are lucky to enjoy it from such an angle. Most visitors to Magna Macragge Civitas are admitted through the fields beneath us. This approach vector is off-limits to all but the most vital traffic."

Looking down, Gyrus could see what he meant. Sandwiched between the city's imposing stone walls and the shore of the Gulf of Lycum was an expanse of docking cradles and landing pads. Vast shadows stretched across them from the suborbital tankers that hung in the air while their fleets of resupply craft hurried up and down to load and unload their cargoes.

The Thunderhawk shook with turbulence once more as it altered its course in preparation for arrival. Now it was flitting between lanes of executive shuttles and civilian ships, making for a landing pad that protruded from the sheer side of the Fortress of Hera.

A crew of attendants was ready to meet it. They guided it in and immediately hooked it up to fuel tanks and thick battery packs once it landed. With the low whine of the engines powering down, the thick pneumatic pistons lowered the front ramp.

"I will not forget that moment in quite a while," Lucius said, appreciatively.

"Nor will I," Narre added.

The Ultramarines were first down the ramp. On an unspoken order they formed up around its base and stood smartly to attention.

"Come," Sicarius beckoned. "There are others waiting to greet you."

With Grimfist at their head, they followed him down the ramp and onto the landing pad. At the other end of the glass walkway linking it to the Fortress' wall was the arched door to a spiral staircase carved from smooth marble. They climbed it together, passing gaggles of pilgrims and servitors as they went. Each group stopped and bowed when they saw the Astartes.

"I did not expect to see so many humans here," Gyrus admitted.

"Only a small number of the worshippers make it this far," Sicarius explained, as they continued up the stairs. "Most of the basilicae where they stay demand a certain penance in return for tokens to climb to the Temple of Correction and gaze upon Guilliman's visage. You are looking at the most devoted and ardent of their number."

At the top, they emerged into verdant green gardens dotted with tall trees and statues of Chapter luminaries. Fountains burbled away in the background as they formed up in a shady gravel clearing. Several aides were waiting for Sicarius.

"There is where we must part," he said. "I am needed elsewhere."

He gestured to the servitors trundling along the path towards them.

"You will be shown to your quarters," he said, "And provided with clothes appropriate for the evening's festivities. Between now and then, what is ours is yours. Feel free to use our training centres or visit any of the holy sites except the Temple of Correction itself."

"Why not there?" Lucius said.

"The Temple would have to be closed in your name," Sicarius told him, "And due to the sheer number of pilgrims that means relocating, it can only be done during specific time periods. We have allocated four hours for you all this evening."

"It was the same last time I was here," Grimfist recalled. "It may seem harsh, brothers, but trust me – it is well worth the wait to stand in the presence of a Primarch."

"Until this evening, then," Sicarius said. "Courage and honour."

"Knowledge and faith," Grimfist replied.

He replaced his helmet, turned and strode away, his cloak fluttering out behind him. The aides fell into step with him and began briefing him on everything he had missed during his short absence.

"What a place," Grimfist said. "Gyrus, I hope this is everything you wanted it to be."

Gyrus did not reply. He had wandered away from the group, out of the shade of the trees, to the ramparts at the edge of the wall. A sheer face of stone dropped away beneath his feet, giving way to the yawning valley and the magnificent city at its base. The air was cool and breezy against his skin. It smelled of the blossom of flowers. Like all Marines, his life was spent in a series of blasted warzones and only occasionally punctuated with visits to his homeworld or to some other safe haven. He had almost forgotten what it was like to experience mankind at its best, not struggling for survival in the ruins of a manufactorum or a hab block. Standing before the ramparts, looking out at the glittering lines of ships and the running-lights blinking through the white clouds, he felt his heart rise. For the first time in a long time, he was hopeful for the Chapter's future.

"Sir," he said, glancing back to Grimfist, "This is better than I could have dreamed."


	52. S6 E7: Soldiers of Fortune

Series VI - Ultramar

Episode VII - Soldiers of Fortune

 _At long last, the White Knights have arrived at Macragge. After a warm welcome from the statesmanlike Second Captain Cato Sicarius, a delegation has travelled down to the planet's surface to begin their stay with a grand feast. But events will soon spiral out of control as an old enemy reappears to complicate relations between the Knights and the Ultramarines._

The doors to the office were thrown open with the creaking of antique wood, revealing a long, thin room with a table running down its centre. Eight places were set out around it, one at each head and three facing each other across it.

Sitting in the throne-like chair at the far end was a massive, broad-shouldered Astarte dressed in ceremonial robes and a cloak with the Imperial Aquila stitched into its blue fabric. As the White Knights entered, accompanied by Second Captain Sicarius, he rose to greet them. Both his arms and his legs were augmetic replacements, making him more machine than man.

Gyrus had heard tell of the Battle of Macragge, when the planet had been invaded by the Tyranids. Marneus Calgar – for it was indeed him – had lost all four of his limbs, as well as sizable parts of his face. His entire left eye was missing, replaced by a whirring and clicking artificial retina.

"Marneus," Grimfist greeted him.

"Sanctus," he returned, and they shook hands firmly. "So good to see you here. How long has it been since last you visited my world? Too long, I will wager. How are you?"

"I am fine, thank you," Grimfist said.

"Good, good," Calgar said. "Let us begin!"

The servitors waiting in the corners of the room trundled over to them. Each one held a tray with several glasses of wine and spirits upon it. They waited while the Marines made their selections.

"First things first," Calgar said, warmly, "I would like to establish some ground rules. For the duration of your stay, I will consider you rude if you fail to use our first names. So far as you are concerned, I am Marneus and my companion here is Cato."

"Charmed," Sicarius said, his voice as smooth as ever.

Gyrus felt almost overwhelmed by the sheer hospitality of the Ultramarines. He couldn't help wondering if the boastful edge he detected was deliberate or simply the product of so much time spent as the most famous Chapter in the galaxy. Everything seemed designed to intimidate, but not in an obvious way. That made it hard to tell what their game was.

"And what of our final guest?" Grimfist was saying. "Will he not be joining us?"

"For a time, yes," Calgar replied. "But socialising is not his way. That being said, he tells me he is very keen to speak to one among you. Which of you is Sergeant Gyrus?"

Hearing his name being called, Gyrus found himself dragged from his thoughts.

"I am, my lord," he said.

"Marneus," Calgar gently corrected him. "If you would care to take your drink outside to the balcony, I believe Varro is waiting to speak with you."

A smile spread over Gyrus' face. He had been eagerly anticipating his meeting with Tigurius since the first time they spoke. To know that he alone had been singled out from the group lifted his spirits immensely. He excused himself and strode along the room towards glass doors at its end.

Beyond them was a semicircular glass balcony with a wrought-iron balustrade that looked out over the Fortress of Hera. From the office's location in the Residency, he could see across the valley to the snowy peaks beyond the Gulf of Lycum. Below him, outside the Fortress' curtain wall, Magna Macragge Civitas extended all the way to the shoreline, a carpet of blinking lights and stone towers. The sky above was split as always by glittering lines of traffic. A group of freighters hung in the air, and in the distance a two-kilometre destroyer was climbing into orbit.

"Magnificent, is it not?" Tigurius said.

He was standing on the balcony with a glass of wine in his hand, wearing the same elegant robes Gyrus had seen him in before. They shifted along with him and seemed as much a part of his body as the skin beneath. His eyes glowed with intense psychic power.

Laughter echoed through the doors to them as the conversation inside began to pick up.

"Sir," Gyrus said, humbly. "Or should I call you Varro?"

"Oh, ignore Marneus' showmanship," Tigurius said. "The pretences of diplomacy are not for me. Rank and hierarchy are what made this Chapter what it is – they are what the Codex Astartes teaches us. I see no reason why they should ever be discarded."

"Chief Librarian, then," Gyrus nodded. "I would have thought you used to the view."

"You would be surprised how much time I spend away from Macragge," Tigurius remarked. "Not physically, of course, but in the distant reaches of the Etherium. I fling my mind far from this place to probe the darkness at the edges of the galaxy. And when I _am_ here in body as well as spirit, I often sequester myself away in the Ptolemy Librarium."

"Then this will come as no surprise to you," Gyrus said, "But I am compelled to tell you regardless: this city is a staggering feat of design. I have not seen its like anywhere in the Imperium, not even on Russala."

"Your Chapter has had nine difficult millennia to construct such things," Tigurius reminded him. "We have had much longer, since before the Heresy and the difficulties it brought. None of what you see before you would exist if not for the guidance of the Primarch. Even today, the power of his vision and imagination is breathtaking."

"It truly is," Gyrus agreed. "And it has been too long since I have experienced such prosperity and success. Part of me had forgotten it was possible at all."

"Macragge is one of the safest places known to us," Tigurius said. "Not even the might of the Tyranid menace has proved capable of breaching its defences. The number of worlds of which I could say the same can be counted on both hands, and none of them are within a thousand light-years of us."

He gave a heavy sigh as he looked out across the beautiful valley.

"But," he said, "We can never forget the sacrifices and efforts that make this possible. For although Macragge may seem safe to us now, it is constantly under threat – and rarely more so than at this very moment. Dark forces are drawing up plans against us."

Gyrus nodded his understanding. Tigurius had said as much during their psychic meeting before the Chapter's departure from Ulis. He had predicted disaster for Macragge and Russala both.

"Sanctus Grimfist was right in surmising a connection between the message you were given by the Emperor and the inscription on the chalice once owned by Primarch Guilliman," Tigurius went on. "We have long known that Guilliman was capable of psychic foresight, like myself and his Father. I believe that he predicted these events would come to pass. That is the reason for the inscription: so that when the time came, you could be given the message and travel here to uncover his plan."

"I am sorry," Gyrus said, in disbelief. "His plan? This is supposed to revolve around me?"

"Well, I suppose it could have been anyone," Tigurius said. "But in the end, it _was_ you, and now this burden is yours to bear. You have been chosen to prevent great harm from befalling the Sagittarius Arm, and to secure Guilliman's posterity."

"But I thought the Primarch was dead," Gyrus pointed out.

"He is, in a manner of speaking," Tigurius admitted. "And yet there are those who believe otherwise. The precise details of the plan will become clear during out visit to the Ptolemy Librarium, once dinner is concluded. In the meantime, we must give the illusion of normality."

"Of course," Gyrus said, as Tigurius made for the doors. "Thank you for speaking with me."

"We must act on our suspicions," Tigurius observed. "The stakes are simply too high for us to ignore them. I will go to the Temple of Correction now, and meet you there later."

"Knowledge and faith," Gyrus said, and signed the Aquila.

Tigurius signed it back.

"Courage and honour," he recited.

Sicarius and Calgar exchanged a few words with him once they were back in the room, then he excused himself and left them to their dinner. They pulled out the places around the table and sat. Within a few minutes, the servitors brought their first course. It was a plate of steaming hot soup, accompanied by a doughy bread and a fresh glass of some kind of spirit.

"The stew contains meat imported from Talassar," Calgar explained, from his place at the head of the table. "And the drink is a native mixture, made from fermented fruits and mixed with Terran sugar. I am sure you will enjoy it."

As one, they raised their glasses for a toast.

Gyrus felt the fiery liquid wash down his throat.

"Stronger than I expected," he said, as they all struck up conversations.

Sicarius, seated opposite him, gave a hearty laugh.

"What manner of feast would this be without something potent to warm us up beforehand?" he joked. "I must say, I am glad to have the chance to talk with you."

"And I you," Gyrus returned.

Before either of them could say another word, the doors to the office were swung open by the Astartes stationed outside. Through them strode a young man of no more than thirty, wearing thick layered armour with the unmistakeable I of the Inquisition emblazoned on the chest. A long cloak hung down from his shoulders and flapped out behind him as he strode over to the table. His roguish face sported a pair of high, noble cheekbones and a slim chin, beneath a head of carefully styled brown hair.

"Good evening, all of you," he said, in a voice as handsome as the rest of him.

"Inquisitor," Calgar said, seeing him. "We expected you some time ago."

At the other end of the table, Grimfist had risen to his feet.

"You expected this man's presence?" he said. His voice was cold and harsh.

"Calm yourself, Sanctus," Calgar said. "Inquisitor Fortune and his detachment of Deathwatch Marines have been guests of ours for some time now."

Gyrus had heard that name before, and he knew where. It had been mentioned during the set of Grimfist's memories he had experienced while recovering from his confrontation with Shi'lo on Ulis. Tomas Fortune was the one who had denied Master Kandras' request for aid when the Chapter was making its last stand against the Orks on Husal – the last stand from which the Ultramarines had rescued them. That would make him much older than he looked. Gyrus remembered Grimfist telling him that Calgar did not know the full truth of his rise to Chapter Master, and wondered if Calgar understood the depth of the connection between him and Fortune.

"Sanctus," Fortune said, giving Grimfist a curt nod. "I see time has served you well. When last our paths crossed, you were First Company Captain."

"Inquisitor," Grimfist stiffly replied. "It is an honour."

"Yes, I'm sure it is," Fortune nonchalantly agreed.

He took the seat beside Gyrus.

"What brings you here to Macragge?" Grimfist asked him.

"What do you think?" Fortune said, with a wry smile on his face. "When I heard of the verdict rendered by Lord Inquisitor Lonlax, I simply _had_ to be here to witness your visit."

He turned in his chair to look directly at Gyrus.

"Fascinating," he muttered to himself. "You are so very different to how I imagined you."

"Have we met?" Gyrus said, making no attempt to hide his hostility.

"No," Fortune said. "But I requested a briefing from Master Calgar on the reasons for your presence here. It seems you are the one at the centre of all this."

"Tomas," Calgar said, sternly. "While I appreciate having you here with us, this dinner is not one for arguments. We are trying to be good hosts."

"Of course, Marneus," Fortune nodded, and turned back to Gyrus. "I don't like to see a Chapter accused of heresy, you see. It pains me."

Gyrus didn't believe him for a second.

"And me," he said, levelly.

"Yet it also pains me to know I may well be sharing my table with a traitor," Fortune said, his manner changing in an instant.

"Tomas," Calgar repeated, more strongly this time, "That is not the purpose of their visit. If the Knights had wanted to _further_ clear their name, I am sure they would have contacted the Inquisition directly. Jae Lonlax does not consider them a threat, and nor do we – and neither should you."

There was a tense pause.

Fortune burst into laughter. None of them joined him, but he still took a minute or so to calm himself down. Once he had regained his composure, he took a sip from Gyrus' drink.

"This is so much fun," he said, breathlessly. " _Obviously_ I respect Lord Inquisitor Lonlax's judgement more than my own. Forgive me; I let my enthusiasm for drama get the better of me for a moment there. Hopefully we can still be friends?"

With that, he fixed his gaze on Grimfist.

Grimfist did not rise to the bait.

"Marneus," he said, calmly, "Might I speak with you alone?"

"By all means," Calgar said. "Please continue with your meals, Astartes. We shall return soon."


	53. S6 E8: Change of Plans

Series VI - Ultramar

Episode VIII - Change of Plans

 _With the future of the diplomatic mission to Macragge suddenly in doubt, events are spiralling out of control for the White Knights – and nowhere more so than back in orbit of Ulis. Sorcerer Farus has taken control of the_ Last Hope of the Weary _and now the ship's corridors are the domain of Bloodletter Daemons. With no communications, its complement of Astartes is cut off from the surface, and from each other._

First Captain Accendo Malum barrelled through the open doorway, taking a pair of Bloodletters with him as he burst into the gallery. They went skittering away across the tiled floor. He had regained his balance in an instant. Even with no armour to augment his movements, it took him less than a second to whirl around and confront the two Daemons that came after him.

The first raised its blade to strike him down.

Moving with inhuman speed, he had severed its arm before the sword could fall. Ignoring its howls of anguish, he punched its comrade in the chest with his free hand. The force behind his clenched fist shattered its ribcage instantly.

A volley of las needles and explosive bolter rounds came from the other end of the gallery, shredding the Bloodletters around him with ease. The Daemons were weak individually or in small groups. It was in hordes that their real strength became apparent.

"Brother," Harlus called, as he jogged over to Malum.

Tiris Eran caught up with him a moment later. She was panting from exertion.

"You found me," Malum smiled.

He drew Harlus into a tight hug.

"Of course we did," Harlus said, once they broke apart. "This is Sergeant Tiris Eran of the Ulian 21st Regiment. She has offered her aid to us."

"Were you not resolved to evacuate the Guard?" Malum asked.

"They are being evacuated as we speak," Harlus assured him, "With orders to summon the remnants of the Ulian Navy and fire on the _Weary_ if fired upon, or failing that if three hours elapse without communication from us."

Malum looked at Tiris.

"You were bold to stay behind, human," he said. "And I see you are keeping pace with Harlus admirably. Either there is something special about you, or he is getting slow in his old age."

"Or both," Tiris said, brightly.

Harlus and Malum laughed together at the joke.

"Quite a find, is she not?" Harlus said. "And if we do find Farus, she may prove instrumental in thwarting his plans. Explain your scheme, Tiris."

Tiris wiped her brow of sweat and cleared her throat.

"Corporal Verrel is being held captive in the Reclusiam, along with a few other Guardsmen," she explained to Malum. "He's been through a lot and I'm worried about him being taken in by this Sorcerer too. Captain Harlus tells me Farus is looking for a pure soul to open the Casket of Tears. I can't think of anyone who'd be easier to trick into it than Verrel."

"So we reach the Reclusiam together," Harlus concluded. "I must say, brother, you have made admirable progress considering you have been fighting alone. We have seen examples of your work all across the ship on our way here."

Tiris nodded.

"I had no idea one person could kill so many Daemons," she said, admiringly.

"One person could barely kill _one_ Daemon," Malum told her. "But one Astarte is another matter entirely. With two of us – and your help – we will soon be at the Reclusiam."

As he spoke, a shadow fell across them all. They turned to the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran the length of the gallery and looked out into the void. A hulking freighter, dotted with spherical fuel tanks and powered by roaring engines, was approaching the _Weary_ with its running-lights blinking and its docking ports open.

"Damn it," Harlus snarled. "I had hoped the message would spread to the refuelling ships and they would cease their work, but this communications blackout is impeding our plans."

"What does this mean?" Tiris asked, nervously.

"It means that stopping Farus from opening the Casket is no longer our priority," Malum said, flatly. "That would be stopping the refuelling process."

"But Captain Harlus said if the Casket was opened . . ." Tiris began.

"I know what I said," Harlus interrupted her. "And it remains the truth. Farus could use that power to summon horrors beyond our worst imaginations. But even if that is what happens, we would have some vain hope of fighting them. If he makes a Warp jump without the protection of the _Weary_ 's Gellar Field, we face certain death."

"What about Corporal Verrel?" Tiris said.

"I am sorry," Harlus said, solemnly. "There is nothing we can do for him until we cancel the refuelling to prevent Farus from escaping Ulis."

"Can't you split up again, like you did before?" she said.

"No," Malum told her. "This is too important. We must combine our strength."

Tiris said nothing. She needed some time to digest the news. Part of her wanted to go after Verrel alone, but she knew she wouldn't stand a chance against Farus. Not only that, but the evacuation ships had already left. Staying with the Marines was the only hope she had of survival and – much as she hated to admit it – saving Verrel. Their diversion would make reaching him in time far less likely, but launching a suicide mission would make it impossible.

"Okay," she said. "You're right. There's no tactical sense in continuing on our current path."

"Spoken like a true Astarte," Malum remarked. "You have much to be proud of, Sergeant."

"Most likely leaving Verrel for dead isn't anything to be proud of at all," she said, stubbornly.

Harlus ignored her complaining. She had seen sense, and he knew it.

"We must reach the engineering section," he concluded, "And stop the process before it can complete. Nothing else matters until that much is done."

"Let us go," Malum concluded.

The other two followed him back the way they had come, towards the central lift shaft adjoining the gallery. Fortunately there was already a lift waiting for them and they ordered it downwards in the direction of the engineering decks. The air inside the compartment grew hotter and deader as it descended. It was the part of the ship the Astartes spent the least time in, and neither of them were familiar with its layout.

"Here we go," Malum said, as the lift arrived.

"Knowledge and faith," Harlus said, to Tiris.

"Knowledge and faith," she breathlessly replied.

After a moment's awful pause, the doors opened to reveal a horde of Bloodletters.

Malum wasted no time. He shouldered the first aside and shot the second with the bolt pistol he had scavenged.

Harlus hefted his own gun and blasted one of the creatures away in a spray of blood and gore. The explosion sent the rest of them staggering backwards and gave the three of them room to advance into the dimly lit corridor. He clubbed the next enemy with the butt of the pistol then finished it off once it was on the ground.

Across from him, Malum smashed a Daemon heavily against the wall and moved up towards the metal bulkhead that separated them from the deck's control room.

"Three left!" he cried, as he ducked under a blade.

"This one's mine," Tiris replied, elbowing the Bloodletter in the face. She pushed the barrel of her las-rifle into the soft folds of its leathery neck, flicked the weapon onto full auto and decapitated it with a stream of red needles.

Harlus sidestepped a pointed sword, came up on the other side and kicked backwards.

The Bloodletter hissed angrily and whirled around only to find itself confronted with a concentrated burst of bolter rounds. Its head exploded messily, splattering the last of its fellows with viscous brains and bone fragments.

It carried on undeterred, stabbing frantically at Harlus.

He caught its blade and shoved its hilt back into the Daemon's bulging stomach.

Malum strode over and crushed its ribcage with the vice-like grip of his fist.

Silence fell.

They all took the opportunity to catch their breath. It took only a second or so for the Astartes to recover, and they were soon turning their attention to the heavy bulkhead.

"Allow me," Harlus said. "Are you ready, brother, or would you like me to face whatever is in there on my own?"

"You can have the glory," Malum joked. "There is more than enough to go around today."

"Sergeant?" Harlus prompted.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Tiris panted, by way of response.

Harlus laughed at her comment took a run-up. In his huge suit of power armour he smashed straight through the bulkhead with ease.

The chamber on the other side was circular, with ringed levels descending to a central area that sported a clear glass floor and a magnificent view of the rotating planet below. Around the room were the cogitators that the servitors and serfs normally used to control the flow of fuel. A warning message was waiting for them, blaring from speakers that hung on wires from the arched ceiling.

" _Tanker incoming_ ," it said. " _Please prepare for docking procedures_."

"We are just in time," Malum realised, beckoning for the others to join him.

"How long will cancelling it take?" Tiris asked, as they crossed to one of the few working cogitators. Its screen was streaked with blood and a dead crewman lay beside it.

"Hopefully no more than a few minutes," Malum said.

He began tapping commands into the flickering holographic keyboard. Each attempt elicited nothing more than a bleep and a new window informing him that the order was not recognised. After a dozen or so tries, he stopped himself.

"We made a mistake coming here," he said, quietly.

"I thought that bulkhead was a little too weak," Harlus doggedly agreed.

All the doors to the room slid closed as one. A chill blew through the air, bringing with it the ghostly sound of whispered incantations. Every single holographic screen disappeared. The red emergency lights were the only thing to see by.

"Emperor save us," Tiris whispered to herself.

"Actually," came a smooth voice, "I sincerely doubt he can hear you at all."

They span around to face their attacker.

Farus stood before them, and his corruption was plain to see. His pale skin was drawn tightly over his skull. At the same time, his muscles seemed only to have grown, so much so that he barely fitted into the shimmering black robes that he wore. His sunken eyes blazed the colour of blood.

"Sorcerer," Harlus spat. "What are these dark forces you wield?"

"Not only dark," Farus said. "Powerful; more so than you mere mortals could ever begin to imagine. The fall of the White Knights is at hand. Ever since Sanctus' first mistake, this has been your destiny. I am privileged to be its channel."

"Where is your honour?" Harlus demanded.

Farus' eyes shone.

"As an old friend once told me," he purred, "Honour is overrated."

A blistering wave of invisible force washed towards them.

Tiris was sent sprawling over a bank of cogitators.

Harlus and Malum kept their balance and opened fire with their bolt pistols. The sheer weight of rounds coming his way was too much for Farus to block and one of the bullets clipped his arm.

He snarled.

"Get them!" he ordered.

A group of Daemons materialised from behind him and advanced menacingly, their razor-sharp tongues whipping in and out of their mouths like snakes'.

"They are all yours, brother," Malum said, and his eyes narrowed. "Farus is mine."

Harlus launched himself at the Bloodletters.

"How vain," Farus said, as he and Malum circled around the melee to meet each other. "Do you truly think yourself capable of defeating me? Two Astartes against an army of the Ruinous Powers? Would it ever have worked?"

Malum raised his power sword and began the fight with a strong slash across the chest.

A serrated, tapering blade materialised from nowhere in Farus' hand and he blocked the attack. Sparks showered from where their weapons met as they traded blows back and forth.

Tiris picked herself up to see two Daemons coming for her. She quickly punched a dozen holes in the first one's chest with her rifle and backed away from the second to give herself time to think.

Harlus span around, took a blow to his shoulder and fired a single round from his pistol.

The Bloodletter moving on Tiris exploded into a thousand pieces.

Once he was satisfied that she was safe for the time being, he turned his attention to Farus and barged through the Daemons to reach him.

Farus cast his mind into the Warp. He could sense Harlus coming for him. With a flash his weapon changed again; now it sported a blade on either end of the central grip. He parried Harlus behind his back and battle was joined.

Their swords were little more than blurs of silver light as they fought to overwhelm his defences, physical and psychic both. The power fields hummed and whined where they touched. Shadows flickered up the walls. But for all their efforts, Farus was a better fighter than both of them put together, and his newfound strength allowed him to hold them off with ease. They had been engaged in combat for hours but he was more capable than ever. Worse still, he knew as much.

A series of lightning-fast thrusts sent Harlus stumbling away.

Malum tried to intervene but found himself forced backwards by a wall of psychic energy.

Farus turned on his heel, his tattered cloak rippling out behind him, and drove one end of his blade directly towards Harlus' chest. The blasphemous spells and enchantments on the weapon carried it through the adamantium of his breastplate. It cracked wide open and the chalice symbol shattered.

Harlus gasped with pain and stepped back, ripping the weapon free in a shower of blood.

"Captain!" Tiris shouted.

In that moment, she did not care if she lived or died. She threw her las-rifle aside, shoved through the Bloodletters she had been fighting and lunged for Farus. Her arms closed around him.

His weapon clattered to the floor.

He was down a moment later, along with Tiris.

Before she could do anything, even recite one final prayer, Malum's foot landed on Farus' neck and pinned him down. He aimed his bolt pistol directly at Farus' head.

"For the Emperor," he growled.

"Good luck with that," Farus chuckled, and disappeared in a cloud of shadow.

Malum's foot met the floor with a clang.

"Chaos take me!" he cursed. "He is one slippery bastard."

Tiris climbed hurriedly to her feet, expecting the Bloodletters to be closing in on them, and looked around. The Daemons were gone and the doors were open once more. Farus, and the powers he wielded over the world around him, had been banished for the time being.

"Harlus," she realised.

He was slumped against an upturned desk, his breathing heavy and fitful. Blood had poured from his wound and stained the white paint of his armour.

"Speak to me!" she begged.

No reply came.

Malum crouched beside her and examined Harlus.

"Is he going to . . ." she said, and cut herself off.

"No," Malum said, to her surprise. "His Larraman cells will already have closed the wound and his Sus-An Membrane will have knocked him out as a reaction to the trauma. But without the help of an Apothecary, there is no telling whether he will succumb to his injuries."

The distant howling of a Bloodletter echoed through the room.

"We must leave this place," Malum said.

Without a moment's hesitation, he picked Harlus up and hefted him over his shoulder. The effort of lifting a full set of power armour – not to mention the Astarte inside – was etched into his face.

"How can you be capable of carrying him?" Tiris marvelled.

"If Harlus dies, it will not be because I left him behind," Malum vowed. "My only concern is that we fell into Farus' trap. Now the refuelling will go ahead and he will open the Casket."

A thin smile spread across Tiris' face.

"Perhaps not," she said. "During all the commotion, I managed to check the ETA on the Warp Drive. It won't be ready to go until after the three hours we gave the Ulian Navy are up."

"Meaning they can knock it out of commission with their guns," Malum said. "It seems Farus did not anticipate we would use the Guard to call for help."

"What can I say?" Tiris shrugged. "We're more resourceful than we look."

"I am beginning to realise as much," Malum admitted, and gestured to the door with his free hand. "Let us go. We must find a safe place to formulate our next plan."


	54. S6 E9: Guilliman's Will

Series 6 - Ultramar

Episode IX – Guilliman's Will

 _Captain Harlus lies gravely wounded by the traitor Farus' corrupted hand. Events are coming to a head above Ulis and on the planet Macragge, where it finally time for Gyrus to discover the full details of Primarch Guilliman's plan for him._

Gyrus strode angrily across the courtyard, his face set in a grimace. His walk through the Fortress' gardens had done nothing to calm the frustration he felt at the way Inquisitor Fortune had ambushed them during their dinner. With evening falling over Macragge, the air was cooling down and a faint breeze had picked up. On any other day the journey from the Residency to the Temple of Correction would have been full of delights and distractions, but now he had no time for such things. Even so, the simple majestic emptiness of the Temple's lobby gave him pause. Carved into the sheer wall that rose before him were towering murals of the twenty Primarchs. The nine of them who had fallen to Chaos had been covered by giant swathes of black cloth, and the two unknown among their number had their faces obscured.

"You are here," Tigurius said, from where he stood underneath the giant depiction of Vulkan.

"Sorry I am late," Gyrus replied. "We were delayed by the arrival of a most unwanted guest. It appears Inquisitor Fortune is determined to sow discord between our Chapters."

"Ah yes," Tigurius said, knowingly. "I had wondered if he would interrupt your dinner."

"Why does Master Calgar tolerate his presence?" Gyrus wondered aloud.

"His hands are tied," Tigurius lamented. "As an Inquisitor, Fortune is free to travel where he wishes, when he wishes – and his rank demands a hero's welcome. Unlike Marneus, I understand the full depth of the complicated relationship Fortune has with the White Knights."

"You know the truth?" Gyrus asked, in surprise.

Tigurius stepped closer to him. His eyes flashed with energy, even more than usual.

"I know all truths," he whispered. "Marneus still believes what happened on Husal was a coincidence, as does Lord Inquisitor Lonlax. Fortune anticipated your Chapter would meet its end there when he denied you the aid of the Deathwatch Company he commands. But you survived, thanks to our actions, and now he holds power over you."

"If he were to tell Lonlax . . ." Gyrus realised.

"Or Marneus, even," Tigurius said. "Which is why it is imperative you and I address the issues at hand rightaway. Every second we spent here, we risk the truth coming to light."

"Master Grimfist plans to tell Marneus Calgar himself," Gyrus told him. "He explained as much to me on the way here."

"Then our time is short," Tigurius concluded. "Let us go."

Gyrus followed him across the echoing lobby and through the soaring triumphal arch into the chamber beyond. He felt his heartbeat quicken as he went, for he knew what awaited them on the other side. This was the moment he had been waiting for since the visit to Macragge had first been mentioned, the moment few among the Imperium's trillions of inhabitants could ever hope to experience for themselves. And it was somehow even greater than he had imagined it could be.

Primarch Roboute Guilliman sat before them on a throne forged from solid gold and supported by four thick legs whose ends took the shape of eagle's claws. He was gigantic. It was hard to gauge his full size while he was seated, but Gyrus guessed he must have been at least nine or ten feet tall. His magnificence was amplified by his intangible aura. Indeed, his very presence in the physical world was beautiful in and of itself, as if even in death he possessed a certain quality other living beings lacked. Guilliman was a relic of the days before the Horus Heresy had riven mankind apart. His throat was bloody and torn with the wounds from his brother Fulgrim's blade, but he did not bleed. That was a marvel too. They were standing just beyond the cusp of a stasis field whose contents were suspended outside the four dimensions of space and time.

"Roboute," Tigurius said, looking up at the Primarch's perfect face. "Such a shame you had to die. You live on in our hearts and minds."

"So that is it, then," Gyrus said. "He is dead."

"Or is he?" Tigurius said, ambiguously. "Would millions of pilgrims journey here in the belief that those scars are healing if there were not some truth to the myth?"

Gyrus did not reply.

" _Love can be drawn from others_ ," Tigurius recited, his eyes still fixed on Guilliman's. " _But hatred comes from inside. Look into your own soul to find true evil_."

Nothing happened. The chamber was still and quiet.

"If that was supposed to do something, I do not know what it was," Tigurius joked.

Gyrus laughed.

"Perhaps it will take more than an incantation to restore him to life," he said.

"Perhaps," Tigurius agreed. "In any case, we must now consider those worlds. What do they mean? What _could_ they mean?"

"Master Grimfist believes they concern Farus," Gyrus reminded him.

"But how would it?" Tigurius challenged him. "If anyone can work this out, Astarte, you can."

"It would show that Farus is, in his heart, evil," Gyrus said. "And that no matter how much we delude ourselves into thinking otherwise, which is what it means when it talks of him drawing love from others, he is still beyond saving."

Tigurius nodded.

"And why would you recite?" he prompted.

"The Emperor gave it to me as a message," Gyrus said. "Presumably, I was intended to realise its meaning sooner and stop Farus from turning to Chaos. In that regard I appear to have failed."

"Yet it still applies," Tigurius pointed out.

"How so?" Gyrus said. "Has Farus not turned? Is his soul still loyal?"

"I will leave you to discover that for yourself," Tigurius said.

Gyrus sighed. It frustrated him that for someone capable of telling the future, Tigurius was so reticent to share what he knew. He looked up at Guilliman and pointed to the mortal wound in his throat.

"Tell me, then," he said. " _Is_ he dead?"

"So it would seem," Tigurius said. "But there are so many theories to the contrary that there must be some element of truth in them."

"Are they not just old myths and legends?" Gyrus asked. "Stories, made up so children may sleep a little easier once darkness falls?"

"Maybe," Tigurius said. "Consider this: Corvus Corax, another of the Primarchs, let the Chaos Gods tempt him. He created an army of horrendous mutants from his Raven Guard Legion, twisted them with the energies of the Warp . . . and never forgave himself. It affected him so deeply that he begged for his Father's mercy for a year and then set off for the Eye of Terror, the Warp Storm that blazes to this day. His last words were _never more_."

That sentence sent a shiver down Gyrus' spine. There was immense power contained within it.

"So he is gone too," he observed.

"How do you know?" Tigurius said. "He could be out there somewhere, eternally grappling with the forces of heresy and corruption in an attempt to earn his salvation."

Gyrus gave him no reply as he considered the assertion.

"His brother, Lion El'Jonson," Tigurius went on, "Lies asleep in the Rock, the Dark Angels' fortress-monastery. The Astartes who tend to his slumbering body maintain that he will awaken someday, when he is needed most."

"What is the point of this exercise?" Gyrus said. "That two more Primarchs may yet live?"

"More than that," Tigurius said. "Jaghatai Khan, leader of the White Scars, led a raid into a Dark Eldar Webway portal and has never returned. Leman Russ disappeared into the Eye of Terror. Rogal Dorn stormed an enemy ship during the First Black Crusade. The Imperial Fists he once led picked up an escape pod containing his personal effects. Where he is and what his fate may have been are not known to us."

"Five of them, then," Gyrus said. "Some are truly dead."

"Of course," Tigurius said. "Take Sanguinius, for example, killed by Horus at the very culmination of the Heresy – and Ferrus Manus, beheaded by Fulgrim. But what of Vulkan, of the Salamanders? He hid nine artefacts across the galaxy and departed for an undisclosed location, promising to return when they were all reunited. Five had been found. And there are those who say the twins, Alpharius Omegon, are actually double agents, made so strong by their love for their Father that they can fight among the hordes of Chaos with no risk of temptation. The rumours claim that to this day they lie deep within the Eye of Terror and plan to destroy the very foundations of evil."

Gyrus said nothing for a minute or so. He was combing his mind for a connection between the tales Tigurius had offered.

"They are all coming back," he said, breathlessly. "All those who still live."

"Seven of them," Tigurius told him. "At the right time, in the darkest hour of their Imperium, they will come to its aid. You might claim it is a fairytale, but there is evidence to the contrary. Corax, Khan, Leman Russ, Alpharius Omegon and Dorn are still fighting for their Father's cause. Roboute Guilliman and Lion El'Jonson sleep, waiting to wake or to be woken. This is the future of humanity."

"And you believe I fit into it," Gyrus said.

"Yes," Tigurius nodded. "Through Guilliman's words, the ones inscribed into the chalice. _Love can be drawn from others, but hatred comes from inside. Look into your own soul to find true evil_. I have been studying his writings and I am certain he foresaw these events. He talks of a schism in the children of the Ultramarines Legion so great that only the mightiest of leaders may heal it. The split shall come from within the Astartes themselves."

"The White Knights are the children of the Ultramarines," Gyrus figured. "That makes sense. Does he go further into detail?"

"He does," Tigurius said, and his excitement was obvious. He reached into a pocket in his robes and produced a notebook with every page covered in scrawled handwriting. "This is my compendium of relevant quotes from the Primarch. I have picked out a few of the most informative."

Gyrus waited while he found the right place.

"Here," he said, eventually. " _My Father considers the future of the Ultramarines' children to be of the utmost importance, and He will arrange for safeguards to be placed upon them in preparation. He will choose one of His followers to reunite the splintered factions against the dark and perilous forces that seek to pull them apart. For the time of the Primarchs will soon come, and their armies must be reformed. I see a bright future for mankind, but it will only be reached through cooperation_. _The ultimate victory will require the ultimate sacrifice._ "

He put the book away once more.

"But it does not end there," he continued. "Guilliman speaks of a weapon, a Crozius Arcanum hidden within the spine of the Lexicon that was forged by the Emperor Himself. Such a creation would carry unimaginable psychic power. Its wielder would be capable of vanquishing even the most hideous of Daemons with ease."

"The original Lexicon has been lost to time," Gyrus said.

"Not lost," Tigurius corrected him, with a gleam in his eye. "Hidden. Stowed away in a secret place, where none can possibly find it. Somewhere you would never think to look."

Gyrus could feel the adrenaline flooding his veins. Only on occasion had he dared to imagine such an ancient and detailed scheme. To know that it was real, and that he was the one chosen to unpick its intricacies, made his spirit soar.

"Where?" he asked, keenly.

"That, it seems, is for you to find out," Tigurius explained. "Guilliman knew of this weapon's capabilities and wanted to shield it from the forces of Chaos, who might seek to bend it to their will. He called it the Kingmaker . . . and that makes this remarkably simple. Find it, and use it to vanquish the powers threatening your Chapter – and mine."


	55. S7 E1: Divine Justice

Series VII - The Return

Episode I - Divine Justice

 _At long last, Roboute Guilliman's plan for the White Knights has been revealed: Gyrus, as the one fated to uncover its details, must find an ancient weapon named the Kingmaker, said to have been forged by the Emperor Himself. With it he can defeat the evil facing the Chapter. And as he comes one step closer to realising Guilliman's vision, events in orbit of Ulis are finally taking a turn for the better._

The guns of the Imperial Navy were firing. The few remaining Cobra-class destroyers and Sword-class frigates of the Ulian detachment had trained their torpedo tubes and macro-laser turrets on the _Last Hope of the Weary_. Blistering volleys of explosive shells tore through the void, smashing against the strike cruiser's void shields in blossoms of brilliant blue and orange. Giant cartridges were ejected from steaming breaches as the turrets reloaded. And in that pause, a single Thunderhawk slid out of the _Weary_ 's hangar and began its long descent to the planet below. It speared down through Ulis' atmosphere, flames licking around its hull, and broke through into the clear air beyond.

" _We are nearing the surface_ ," came the pilot's voice in Farus' ear. " _ETA is ten minutes._ "

"You are doing a fine job," Farus replied.

He wore a broad smile on his face as he paced back and forth in the gunship's rattling crew compartment; his spell of illusion was working perfectly. The poor, tortured pilot thought himself a servant of the Imperium. If he had summoned the resolve to break the enchantment and leave his seat, he would see the munitions piled high in the compartment and the hundreds of desecrated holy idols ready for the summoning. But he was a simple-minded dockhand, Farus reminded himself as he put any doubt about his plan's success out of his mind.

"Chaplain," he sent over the comms. "Any word on our two enemies in engineering?"

" _I am tracking them using the security cameras_ ," Aurelius assured him, from his station on the _Weary_ 's bridge. " _They are making for the Apothecarium, presumably to heal the wounds you inflicted upon Captain Harlus_."

Farus chuckled to himself.

"Let them," he said. "When we make the Warp jump, their souls will be shredded in seconds."

" _And I anticipate it greatly_ ," Aurelius hissed. " _Your departure went unnoticed by the Navy._ "

"I had thought it would," Farus said.

 _Just make sure you return promptly_ , Samovar von Guyen whispered in his ear. _Before their ships wear down the void shields._

"We will not fail you," Farus promised him.

Every movement his mouth made was exaggerated and precise, exposing a set of yellowed and pointed teeth. The edges of his lips were ringed with blood. Feeling von Guyen's approval washing over him, he took a deep breath and summoned his powers. Reality blinked. He was replaced by an image of his former self, wearing a pristine set of power armour and looking every inch the noble Librarian he had once been.

The Thunderhawk shook as its retro-thrusters kicked in to slow it down. Landing skids dropped from hatchesin its underside and it came down on the pad that had been cleared by the refinery's staff when Farus contacted them and used his abilities to give himself the voice of General Bannur. A moment later the heavy ramp was lowered on its thick hydraulic rams.

A group of workers was waiting at the bottom, wearing anti-chemical suits and headgear.

"Chief Librarian," one of them said, in surprise. "What are you . . ?"

Farus' keen eyes flashed.

The workers stiffened and then relaxed.

"Such an honour to have you here," the man said. "We have the emergency refuelling tankers ready and the fuel cells for the Warp jump ate right here. Would you like to inspect them?"

"It would be my pleasure," Farus told him.

He descended the ramp and joined them in the large, open courtyard where the landing pads were laid out. Bordering it were huge oil drums and towering chimneys that belched fumes into Ulis' atmosphere. The world's refineries and drilling platforms had been taken by the Tau during the war and used to churn out supplies to power their armies.

Farus followed the workers across the courtyard towards a crate piled high with cells. Each one was marked with warning signs.

"Here they are," the man said. "We spent the last few hours preparing them."

"They look good," he replied, absent-mindedly detaching a detonator from where it was held at his belt. "You have done well. I shall try to arrange some manner of reward."

"A reward?" the man keenly repeated. "What will it be?"

Farus shrugged.

"A quicker death, I suppose," he said.

After a moment to savour the look of confusion on his victim's faces as his disguise was dropped, he squeezed the trigger of the detonator. In the Thunderhawk's crew compartment, a series of remote-operated flares burst into life. The touched off the holy texts and burned their sacred pages.

The ground began to shake. Tendrils of light were snaking their way through the air, ripping the fabric of space and time apart and opening portals into the Etherium. Bloodletters began materialising all around them. They carried wickedly curved swords and their long forked tongues tasted the air hungrily.

One by one the workers were realising what was happening. Most of them ran, but some stood their ground and drew what little weapons they had.

The man nearest Farus unslung his wrench and swung for Farus.

With superhuman speed Farus had drawn his bolt pistol and put a round into his chest. The others in the group stared, horrified, as he staggered away. Then the explosive round detonated, showering them all with gore and bone fragments.

They broke and ran.

A wave of Bloodletters surged after them, unleashing howling screams of victory.

Farus laughed as he watched them go. He forged a path through the packs of Daemons towards the control tower that rose into the air on the other side of the courtyard. Though his assault had been quick and well-executed, the refinery's security forces had practiced for emergencies during the war and were beginning to deploy.

Steel-capped boots thundered on catwalks as a heavily armoured squad of Adeptus Arbites moved into position. They were clad from head to toe in thick plates of pitch black armour and long cloaks flapped out behind them.

He shot one and used his psychic powers to stop the hail of bullets that came his way.

A Daemon that had been stalking along the catwalk above dropped down to their level and started hacking violently into them.

Farus waited until they were all either dead or tied up in the combat and moved on. The doors to the control tower swung shut as he approached but he opened them with a wave of his hand and strode through.

A couple of workers were cowering in the corner.

He executed them both, snapping their weak necks with a flick of his wrist, and climbed the stairs. Taking them two by two, he reached the top within a minute. The control room was full of activity. Aides were running in all directions, putting out distress calls and triggering alerts. With a gesture he silenced their communications.

"Get back, heretic!" one of the Arbites ordered.

Farus smiled at him, and his eyes snapped back in his skull as it shattered with an awful crack.

Another came at him from the right.

He caught the rounds from his pistol and sent them back at him. The force of the impact picked him up off his feet and sent him flying through the glass windows.

"Launch the automated tankers," Farus said. "Now."

"Yes sir," an adjutant stammered, her fingers shaking as she entered the commands.

Hulking ships began lifting off from the other side of the refinery. The distant roar and throbbing power of their engines shook the control tower. Each of them was full of fuel and on a course for the _Last Hope of the Weary_.

There was a hiss from over Farus' shoulder as the first of the Daemons arrived.

He turned to it.

"Time to feast," he said.

As the room descended into turmoil, the first of the tankers nosed out of the clouds and began accelerating to escape velocity. It climbed through Ulis' atmosphere, into the darkness of space. Flickering lines of tracer gleamed off its hull as it approached the battle unfolding in orbit. The ragtag ships of the Imperial Navy were circling the _Weary_ like sharks around a carcass, unleashing salvoes of shells from their macro-turrets. One of the Cobra-class destroyers swung around sharply and emptied its torpedo tubes. The volley of torpedoes rocketed through the void, slipped through the _Weary_ 's shields and slammed into its armoured plating.

On the bridge, alarms began wailing.

"Sir," one of the crewmen called to Aurelius, "We have hull breaches in several decks and fires are burning in engineering."

"Activate the suppression systems," Aurelius barked. "And ignore the breaches. We have no need for life support any longer."

"Aye, sir," the man said.

The spectral crewmembers had been materialising ever since Farus and Aurelius had seized control of the ship. Many of them wore ancient uniforms bearing outdated insignia not seen in the Sagittarius arm for hundreds of years. They were mortals whose souls had fallen prey to Chaos and who were now cast back into the physical realm to serve their purpose.

 _We have little time_ , came von Guyen's voice in Aurelius' ear. _We must leave._

"I know," Aurelius assured him. "Farus, do you read me?"

" _Loud and clear_ ," Farus replied, over the radio. " _I am aboard the Thunderhawk and climbing into orbit as we speak. We are tracking the tankers_."

As he spoke, there was a blinding flash of light against the dark backdrop of space. The first of the refuelling tankers had taken a direct hit from a volley of shells and its cargo had detonated. Now it was breaking apart from the inside out, wracked by internal explosions.

"Damn it," Aurelius growled.

" _It is alright_ ," Farus said. " _We need only one to arrive safely_."

Farus' Thunderhawk weaved and dived between the ships of the small Imperial Navy detachment as it approached the hangar. A series of torpedoes shot past just outside its hull and found their mark on the _Weary_ 's armoured flank.

 _This vessel is taking damage_ , von Guyen warned.

"I know!" Aurelius repeated, angrily. "Our gambit is not working!"

" _There is yet time_ ," Farus reminded him.

 _You were foolish_ , von Guyen said to them, his voice coming from inside both their heads at the same time. _The ones you call Harlus and Malum have outwitted you._

"They will not succeed," Aurelius said. "I will begin the Warp jump."

But the Navy detachment was slowly realising what was happening and retraining its guns in the tankers instead of the _Weary_. The last of the three soon detonated as its fuel tank took a direct hit from an explosive shell. It disappeared in a shining ball of light and flames.

The last tanker had reached the protection of the _Weary_ 's void shields and was moving into position to begin the refuelling process. Giant hatches in the strike cruiser's underside were swinging open one by one. It aligned its docking ports with them and climbed up to meet them.

"Locked on," reported one of the crewmembers.

"Set the Warp drive to register the contents of the tanker as available for use," Aurelius said. "We are making this damned jump, even if we have to bring it with us."

"Aye," the ghostlike man nodded. "Spinning up the drive now."

Shimmering lines of pink and purple were crackling across the _Weary_ 's surface and sparking together in the emptiness just beyond her prow. They would soon open a portal into the Etherium and allow her to escape.

"We are getting interference from the planet's gravity well," Aurelius warned.

 _Proceed_ , von Guyen said, flatly. _The stakes are too high for us to fail_.

The doors to the bridge hissed open and Farus strode through with a group of Bloodletters in tow. He had a scowl on his pale face.

"What is taking so . . ." he began.

Before he could finish his sentence, there was a dull boom and the ship listed heavily to one side. The lights in the control room flickered and died. Every holographic display panel lit up bright red and alarms begin wailing.

"The tanker took a hit from a torpedo," Aurelius said, glancing at the readouts before him. "It is gone, and we have an active fire in the engine section."

 _You are both useless_ , von Guyen snapped.

"Can you divert power from the weapons?" Farus asked, ignoring him.

"I did that half an hour ago," Aurelius said. "Thrusters and lift support are on minimal power as well. There is nothing more we can use."

Farus shook his head.

"You are wrong," he said. "Use the void shields."

Aurelius glanced at him dumbly.

"But if we do that," he said, "We will be totally vulnerable."

"It only has to work for a few seconds," Farus reminded him.

With a heavy sigh, Aurelius issued the command. The blue blossoms that hung around the _Weary_ faded and died as the incoming shells were allowed through. They burst against the ship's hull, tearing out sheets of armoured plating and eviscerating entire decks at a time.

"Power levels are climbing," Aurelius said. "It is working!"

A yawning, swirling portal of ethereal purple energy opened in front of the ship. Snaking tendrils of pure light reached out to take it in their grasp. Its plasma engines fired in response, pushing it forwards towards the portal's heart.

"Nearly there," Aurelius growled.

One after the other, a series of well-placed shots from one of the Sword-class frigates found its place on the _Weary_ 's thundering boosters. Emergency countermeasures automatically kicked in and shut most of them down within seconds. The rest were too heavily damaged to register the command and their reactions continued out of control.

"Just a few seconds more," Farus muttered as the ship accelerated towards the portal, unaware that it was being powered by raw explosive power.

And then the chain reaction reached the plasma drive itself. It had already been pushed to its limit but the power surge overloaded it entirely. With a horrible shuddering and creaking so loud it was deafening even as far away as the ship's bridge, the entire engine section detonated. The force of the explosion sent the _Weary_ tumbling away through space end over end.

Farus looked up through the dome of the bridge to see the view beyond rotating about him. Ulis swung past once every few seconds, bathing the whole scene in light, only to disappear once more.

The Warp portal had vanished.

"Right the ship!" he snapped.

Aurelius was already working at the controls.

 _What happened?_ von Guyen demanded.

"Our plasma drive is gone," Farus said, as the _Weary_ slowly came to a halt. "Without that, we have no conventional thrusters – and nothing to power the Warp drive. We are stuck here."

There was a pause.

Aurelius cursed under his breath. His face set.

"But we still have void shields and weaponry," he said, grimly. "We were not using them before, in the interest of saving energy. Now we have no need of it."

"Then bring them online," Farus said. "And show these Imperial bastards that actions have consequences. We will blow them from the sky."

 _All very well and good_ , von Guyen said, _But we need a plan of escape_.

Farus racked his brain to find one.

"A host," he said, his eyes brightening. "If we could find a way of summoning another vessel here, it could jump back out and take us through the portal with it. But to open a portal wide enough, such a craft would have to be larger than us."

 _Much larger_ , von Guyen agreed.

"You already have one in mind," Farus realised.

 _I do_ , von Guyen replied. _We can remain in orbit of Ulis and fight off these aggressors for some time, but with no Warp capability we will be an easy target for the White Knights upon their return from Macragge. That cannot be allowed to happen. If you appease the Chaos Gods, they will bestow upon you one of their finest vessels. It will be your salvation_.

"To the Reclusiam, then," Farus said, and made for the lift. "To open the Casket."


	56. S7 E2: Downfall

Series VII - The Return

Episode II - Downfall

 _In orbit of Ulis, Sorcerer Farus finds himself trapped and unable to use his ship's Warp Drive – but Samovar von Guyen, whispering in his ear, is already fomenting a new plan. Meanwhile, on Macragge, Chapter Master Sanctus Grimfist prepares to finally share the full story of his rise to power with his dear friend Marneus Calgar._

Marneus Calgar's office was located at the very top of the Residency's highest peak, giving it a commanding view looking out across Magna Macragge Civitas to the imposing mountains on the other side of the Gulf of Lycum. To the right was the Fortress of Hera proper, with its geodesic domes, glass walkways and soaring towers. In the shade of the aegis wall far below was the city's extensive parkland. Paths wound their way between grand trees and alongside babbling streams. The figures gathered in the verdant fields were little more than dots from so great a height.

Grimfist gave a deep sigh and relaxed, feeling the cool breeze through his braided grey hair. He held a glass of wine in his hand as he leaned on the balcony's railing to take in the view. Above him, flickering lanes of spacecraft criss-crossed the night sky between the pure white clouds. Red and green running-lights blinked through the darkness.

"I will miss this place," he said.

"Cheer up," Calgar joked, as he stepped out onto the balcony to join him. "Are you not intending to stay for a few more days?"

"We were," Grimfist nodded. "But now it is not so simple. I do not know how to explain my reasoning to you, Marneus, but the presence of Inquisitor Fortune has thrown my plans into disarray. We arrived only this afternoon and already I am thinking of our departure."

"Tomas Fortune has long been a thorn in our side," Calgar agreed. "He is meddlesome at best, worrisome at worst. Lord Inquisitor Lonlax once told me he would have been exiled from the organisation's ranks long ago if not for his effectiveness. He is a zealot in every sense of the word."

"Believe me, I know," Grimfist said, cryptically.

Calgar laid an augmetic hand on his shoulder.

"Is there something you wish to share with me, brother?" he asked, concernedly.

"There is," Grimfist admitted. "Let us talk inside."

He finished his wine with a long gulp and followed Calgar back into the office proper. It was an intimate, wood-panelled room much like his own aboard the _Glory of Russala_. Bookcases lined the walls and an artificial fire crackled away in the grate.

Grimfist sat in the comfortable leather-backed chair before the desk.

Calgar took the place behind it and folded his mechanical arms with a faint whir.

"The White Knights have more of a history with Tomas Fortune than we care to admit," Grimfist said, picking his words carefully. "I could begin my story on Husal, where you rescued us from the Orks, but it has its roots far earlier than that. It begins with Dominicus Nero . . . and my father."

"I remember Dominicus well," Calgar recalled. "He was a fine man, and the stars blaze a little dimmer for his loss."

"Well said," Grimfist agreed. "Let me explain. I was born to Consus, head of House Aquilinus, the most noble and revered of Russala's Six Houses. When I was but a child, Nero led a delegation of Knights to our ancestral home to meet with my father. But Consus betrayed them. They had entrusted him with the chalice gifted to us by the Primarch Guilliman. He had attempted to use it to strike a bargain with the Chaos Gods."

Calgar calmly poured himself another glass of wine.

"For you?" he offered.

"No, thank you," Grimfist declined, and continued his story. "Of course, even with the help of the Dark Gods, Consus' powers were naught compared to Nero's. He met his end that day, and I survived. Nero offered me the chance to earn a place in the Chapter."

"Why have I never heard of this?" Calgar asked.

Grimfist took a deep breath before giving his answer.

"It was buried," he said, flatly. "On Farus' suggestion. He was then the First Company Librarian; Kandras, who was then the First Captain, was the third guest. All three consented to purging the records of House Aquilinus, but Farus provided the idea."

"I see," Calgar said, ambiguously.

"From that point on I was put to work," Grimfist recalled. "My first task was finding the chalice, which had disappeared. In return for doing so I was formally inducted into the Chapter. It was on Stygies XI, in the city of Pathonia, that the next mistake was made."

"The Eviscerator Virus," Calgar recalled. "We knew of it, and of its presence on that world. It coated the blade used to cut Guilliman's throat."

"Nero infected himself with it," Grimfist said.

"He sacrificed his own life so that it could never be used to take another's," Calgar remarked. "You should be proud of him."

"And I am," Grimfist said. "Less proud of what he left behind. Nero made no secret of his desire for me to succeed him as Master, but his illness overcame him quicker than he had anticipated. By the time of his death, I was not ready. Kandras took his place despite never having served in the Deathwatch. That alone was unprecedented, but none of us realised how unwise a move it was."

"Why?" Calgar said. "What happened?"

Grimfist considered his options for a moment, and then cleared his throat and gestured to the bottle of wine between them.

Calgar wordlessly poured him a second glass.

He took a sip from it.

"On Husal," he said, "We threw ourselves on Tomas Fortune's mercy. Believing him to be our only hope, Master Kandras requested the aid of his Deathwatch Company. He declined."

"He declined?" Calgar repeated, his biological eye widening as he did so.

"Kandras' lack of Deathwatch service had been taken as an insult to the institution in some circles," Grimfist explained. "Fortune, for one, took it extremely personally. He left us to die that day – and we would have, if not for your intervention."

Calgar did not speak. He was staring down at the floor.

"I once told Sergeant Gyrus that we did not deserve saving," Grimfist said, summoning the courage to go on with his story. "But the tale does not end there. Having done my own time in the Deathwatch and thus earned my surname back, I was poised to take command of the Chapter."

"Your surname is Grimfist," Calgar pointed out. "Not Aquilinus."

"It was given to me by the Underhive gang I infiltrated to retrieve Guilliman's chalice," Grimfist said. "And so I took it upon the end of my term of service. But Kandras, who as you now realise understood the truth of my heritage, had named Jarfur – a Sergeant of the First Company – his successor. I outranked him in every sense, but he was of noble birth. I was . . ."

Calgar watched him as he trailed off.

"Say it," he prompted.

"Unfit for the office," Grimfist muttered. "Jarfur knew it. My anger got the better of me and I demanded he duel me to _earn_ the title of Master. When he won, Farus intervened to change the result."

"He had that power?" Calgar said, dubiously.

"Only the Chief Librarian does," Grimfist said. "And I promoted him to that position as a reward for making me Master."

" _Before_ your ascension," Calgar noted. "So you struck a deal with him."

"In effect," Grimfist said. "Yes, I did."

There was a pause.

Calgar slowly pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. He left his wine on the table as he crossed to the balcony to look out across the city once more. It was clear that he was digesting the story. His entire conception of the White Knights had changed in a matter of minutes.

"Marneus," Grimfist ventured, as he stood. "Brother . . . I need to know if you can forgive me."

He received no reply, just a hollow laugh.

"Please," Grimfist said. "I know you must think me a heretic."

"No," Calgar said, though his back was turned and his expression unreadable. "I do not think that. Stupid, yes. Malleable, weak, unwilling to stand up to those who would seek to control you . . . those are but a few of the words I would use. Not heretical."

"Farus is gone now," Grimfist said. "I have seen the error of my ways."

Finally Calgar faced him. He wore a warm smile.

"You have," he said. "And we can put everything you have told me behind us. I have only one question for you."

Grimfist gave a sigh of relief.

"Anything," he said.

"Does Lord Inquisitor Lonlax know?" Calgar said.

Grimfist hesitated. He had been expecting a friendly remark, not an interrogation.

"I . . ." he began, and stopped himself.

"Does Jae know?" Calgar pressed him.

There was a click as the door to the office swung open and Tomas Fortune strode through, smoothing his long cloak and straightening his immaculate hair.

"What do you mean, _does Jae know?_ " he said, deepening his voice in a mocking imitation of Calgar. "Of course he doesn't know! And can you imagine why?"

His eyes flashed.

"Because I haven't told him," he said, with relish.

Calgar stepped back into the office to confront him.

"Tomas," he said. "What is the meaning of this interruption? We were engaged in a private conversation. You have no right to . . ."

"A conversation that ends now," Fortune interrupted him, coldly. "I cannot abide it any longer."

"How long were you out there?" Calgar said.

"Long enough," he replied. "I had my suspicions there was more to Sanctus Grimfist than meets the eye, and that was what brought me here to Macragge in the first place. But the truth is even more damning than I ever imagined. Marneus, how can you so much as consider maintaining your support of this traitor? Did you hear nothing he had to say?"

"Farus used him," Calgar said. "And I am as shocked by that as anyone, but it is not grounds on which to issue a death sentence."

"It is _more_ than enough for that," Fortune spat, as he strode over to Grimfist. "I have been watching you and your Chapter for a long time now, waiting for you to get the justice that was coming to you, and every time it has been within the reach of the Inquisition to cut you loose some miracle has intervened. First the Ultramarines saved you on Husal, though I cannot for the life of me figure out why. Then Josephine Orrick was murdered before she had the chance to conduct a proper hearing and Lord Inquisitor Lonlax decided to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Grimfist looked down at him.

"Lord Inquisitor Lonlax has long been our friend and ally," he said.

"The Inquisition has no allies!" Fortune shouted.

Silence fell.

Fortune's breathing was heavy. He took a moment to calm himself.

"Our weapons are truth and fury," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And we act with the authority of none save for the immortal God-Emperor of Mankind. It is with that authority that I order you to leave this world immediately."

Grimfist opened his mouth to reply, but Calgar cut across him.

"Or what?" he demanded.

Fortune rounded on him.

"Or Jae Lonlax will hear the truth," he hissed. "The _entire_ truth."

"You will tell him everything you know unless we leave Macragge?" Grimfist said. "Why not tell him anyway, if you hate us so much?"

"Because much as I am loath to admit it," Fortune said, smoothing his robes once again, "Your Chapter has shown signs of improvements of late. Reading through the report filed by Sergeant Cordell of the Grey Knights, it struck me that Farus was truly the one responsible for Josephine's death. But that does not excuse your weakness or your past misdeeds. The ignominy of a lesser Chapter I will tolerate; that it should happen to the Ultramarines is simply too much. If the threat of excommunication is what it takes to ensure Marneus Calgar does not become another Dominicus Nero, then so be it."

"Dominicus Nero was a better man than you will ever be," Grimfist growled, ominously.

"You have no standing on which to make that judgement," Fortune retorted. "Perhaps one day you will earn the right to stand on this hallowed ground, but it is not this day. I came to Macragge hoping to see that you had finally become worthy of the title of Master. Instead, I heard a litany of confessions that a less understanding Inquisitor would consider grounds for execution."

Grimfist stared at him.

He stared right back.

"Marneus," Grimfist said, without breaking Fortune's gaze, "Do you believe what you hear?"

Calgar walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes," he said, simply. "I do."

A smile spread across Fortune's thin face.

Grimfist wrenched his attention away from him and turned to Calgar.

"I am sorry?" he said, with a frown.

"What can I do?" Calgar observed. "My hands are tied. My common sense tells me that you surely deserve some punishment for the misdeeds you have admitted here, but also that there is nothing but loyalty in your heart. If you remaining here will see both our Chapters excommunicated, then I must request that you leave."

Grimfist felt his heart slowly sinking in his chest.

"I knew the judgement of Master Calgar would not disappoint me," Fortune said, smugly.

Calgar levelled a finger at him.

"And you will leave too," he added. "I want nothing to do with this conflict."

"Gladly," Fortune said. "My work here is done. Justice has been served."

Grimfist had nothing more to say to either of them. He walked over to the door and wrenched it open, then made for the lift at the end of the corridor outside. It took him down to the Residency's grand hall, where ancient banners hung from the rafters to proclaim the glory of the Ultramarines. He had come to Macragge intending to make things right with Marneus Calgar, and instead a wedge had been driven between them. Fortune had won. He truly was a zealot, willing to do whatever it took to protect the Imperium. That had led him to the conclusion that associating with the White Knights would damage the reputation of the Ultramarines, and Calgar had agreed. Grimfist was utterly powerless in the face of their opposition.

Gyrus and Tigurius were stepping into the hall from the gardens outside as he swept towards the grand doors. They had come from the Temple of Correction.

"There _is_ more," Tigurius was saying, and nodding his head in agreement as he spoke. "In several of his works, Guilliman discusses names coming to him. I will re-read his personal writings and identify as much information as I can."

"Is Farus not our enemy?" Gyrus said.

"Farus is the tip of the spear," Tigurius told him. "Not the hand that throws it. Identifying that hand will tell us who you exactly are destined to defeat. A little more work is needed."

Grimfist strode up to them.

"We are leaving," he announced, darkly.

"Sir?" Gyrus said, in confusion. "The Chief Librarian and I were . . ."

"It matters not," Grimfist silenced him. "My order stands."

Gyrus was lost for words. He hadn't expected anything of the sort.

"But we cannot leave," he said. "There is more to uncover. We believe the threat to our Chapter goes beyond Farus. It is more powerful and sophisticated that we know."

Grimfist gave a dry laugh.

"And in that, you are certainly correct," he said. "With me, Gyrus."

He had swept away before Gyrus could offer a response.

Gyrus looked at Tigurius, who said nothing.

"My lord," he ventured, "We _cannot_ go."

Grimfist whirled back at him.

" _Heel_ , Sergeant!" he bellowed, and his voice echoed around the hall. "There will be dire consequences if I am forced to repeat myself."

"Do as he commands," Tigurius said, levelly. "I will contact you soon."

Gyrus looked from him to Grimfist. He could not believe what was happening. With a snarl of frustration he hurried after his Chapter Master.

The doors to the lift hissed open and Marneus Calgar stepped out. He saw the receding figures, as well as Tigurius watching them go, and made for him.

"What did you do?" Tigurius said, his voice shaking with quiet rage.

"I acted to protect our Chapter," Calgar said.

Tigurius turned his thoughts to the dark energies he sensed moving through the Etherium, to the whispers in the forgotten places of the galaxy and the plans being drawn up against the Sagittarius Arm even as they spoke. He shook his head slowly as he looked over at Calgar.

"You may have protected us, Marneus," he said. "Or you may have doomed us."


	57. S7 E3: The Apothecarium

Series VII - The Return

Episode III - The Apothecarium

 _After a shocking confrontation with Inquisitor Thomas Fortune, the White Knights are leaving Macragge and returning to Ulis. They will find Farus lying in wait for them. His schemes have already claimed the lives of much of the Chapter's First Company. Now they threaten the life of Second Captain Harlus as well._

Accendo Malum had laid Harlus out on the table in the Apothecarium's operating theatre, just beyond the sliding glass doors to the reception chamber. Bloody handprints climbed the walls and the doors of the medicine cabinets had been covered in unholy scripts and writings by its previous occupants. Malum and Tiris Eran had left Harlus behind for a time and cleared the Daemons in a difficult battle that had left both of them exhausted. Tiris had yet to recover.

She was slumped in a padded chair in the corner, panting heavily with her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. The breastplate of her armour was lying on the floor beside her, along with her las-rifle. Only a gasp of pain from Harlus stirred her to action.

"Captain," she said, climbing stiffly to her feet.

Malum raised a hand for silence.

"There is little we can do for him," he said, quietly. "Farus' blade was imbued with the dark powers of Chaos. His wounds are more than physical."

Tiris looked Harlus up and down. Malum had removed his helmet and she could see that all the blood had drained from his face. His eyes were vague and unfocussed.

"Surely there's _something_ we can do," she said.

"Perhaps," Malum replied. "But it is not worth the risk."

She glanced at him.

"Tell me," she said. "I'll try it."

Malum shook his head.

"It is simply too dangerous," he insisted. "Especially for you."

"Why can't you go, then?" she asked.

His face bore a stern expressions as he turned to her.

"Do not speak to curtly to an Astarte," he warned.

Before she could reply, Harlus coughed and raised his armoured hand to close his fingers around the arm of Malum's tunic.

"Brother," he said, faintly, "Spare her. She has proved herself worthy."

Tiris felt tears spring to her eyes. She fought them back.

"Thank you," she said.

Harlus chuckled to himself and coughed again, staining his lips with drops of blood.

"Marines are not in the habit of indulging humans," he weakly explained to her. "We give credit where it is due, and nowhere else. It is not Accendo's fault that he cannot see in you what I can. He did not witness your determination, or the strength of conviction with which you fought. I am only . . ."

She watched, heartbroken, as he trailed off.

"Only what, brother?" Malum prompted.

Harlus seemed to fade for a moment, only to jolt back awake.

"I am only sad we could not save Corporal Verrel," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Farus' plan to leave Ulis may have been thwarted, but . . . but we had hoped to keep him from opening the Lexicon. We seem doomed to fail in that endeavour."

Silence fell.

Without saying a word, Tiris leaned over his massive form and laid her head on the unmoving chestplate of his armour. The shattered pieces of the chalice it bore were cold against her skin. It rose and fell with his haggard breathing.

Malum cleared his throat.

"Perhaps not," he said.

Tiris straightened up.

"What do you mean?" she asked, urgently.

"I mean . . . there is a way," he said, formally. "Life support systems are offline, and after the beating the _Weary_ took at the hands of the Ulian Imperial Navy, we are lucky there is still air to breathe in this room. Certainly the autosurgeon is beyond our use. Harlus' wound will not close. We are required to solve the problem."

"So we find the right tools," Tiris concluded.

"Yes," Malum said. "Only he cannot be left alone while we search. One of us must remain here, and it should be the stronger of the two – for his protection."

Tiris looked slowly from him to Harlus, realising what he meant. If she wanted to save him, she would have to strike out on her own. She smiled weakly.

"Well, sticking behind on this damned ship was a risk in itself," she said, "And it's been paying off so far. What's to say my luck will end here?"

"Sergeant," Malum said, "On any other day, I would order you to undertake this mission. But today, hearing everything Harlus has to say about you . . . today, I will only ask."

She had already crossed to the chair to strap her breastplate back into place. With a chuckle, she slotted a fresh power cell into her las-rifle and powered it up.

"Just tell me where to go," she said.

"It will not be far," Malum assured her. "At the end of the corridor adjoining this chamber is a storeroom containing Apothecary Narre's Narthecium. I am sure he will not mind if we borrow it."

Tiris laughed.

"Fine," she said, "And there's no other way?"

Malum gave Harlus a meaningful look.

"No," Harlus said, weakly. "There is not."

Malum nodded his agreement.

"Go," he said. "May the Emperor smile upon you."

Tiris didn't want to give either of them more time to say goodbye. It was only a short trip along the corridor, she told herself, disregarding the fact that Harlus' armour had sensed movement in the area on their way through the lobby. Even the reception chamber was dark and moody. It was bathed in red from the emergency lighting. Candles had been arranged on the polished wooden desk and they burned with the colour of blood, giving off the stench of rotting meat.

"Keep going," she said to herself. "Ignore it."

The Daemons were waiting for her, as she had expected. They were dumb but not suicidal, and taking on two Marines – even with one of them wounded – was little more than a death wish. A pair of them emerged from the storeroom when they smelled her approaching.

Forked tongues flicked out from between their ragged lips. They hissed their anger at her.

"The Emperor protects," she said, and raised her las-rifle.

Her first salvo pulverised the scrawny torso of the Bloodletter to the right, shredding it with burning red needles. It all but drained her power cell.

The second Daemon was already thumping towards her. It raised its long, jagged blade to swipe her aside and brought it down with a long slash.

She stepped back out of its reach and thumbed the las-rifle's trigger. A few more needles jabbed at its midriff and cut through the corrupted flesh before the power cell ran dry.

Dripping acidic blood but emboldened by her lack of ammunition, the Bloodletter advanced on her once more. It seemed to tower over her in the confined space.

Tiris brought the rifle up as it brought the sword down and the two met at right-angles. The blade bit into the working parts of the gun and became lodged. With one swift motion she released her grip on the rifle and sidestepped, allowing the sword to swing downwards once more.

The Daemon stumbled forward.

In a second Tiris had drawn the las-pistol at her hip and emptied its entire clip into its skull.

It thrashed in brainless agony for a few moments before finally coming to rest, its limbs curled up in a foetal ball. Blisteringly hot blood coated the floor.

She carefully stepped between the acidic bloodstains as she moved up. Either the storeroom was empty or its occupants had decided to wait her out. Whatever the case might have been, she took the chance to reload her pistol with her last power cell. Each shot would have to count.

To her immense relief, there was only one Bloodletter waiting for her. It had hung back, hoping to take her by surprise, but its size made hiding difficult. Its best bet had been to crouch behind one of the desks in the middle of the room.

Tiris saw it the moment it straightened up. By the time it had come around the desk to face her, she had taken careful aim and lined the sights of the pistol up with its neck. It slammed heavily to the floor, its throat a torn mess of tendons and gore.

"Okay," she sighed. "Narthecium."

It was secured in a cupboard on the sideboard across the storeroom from her. Designed to slot over the armoured arm of a Marine, the device was nearly as large as her torso and far heavier. With some effort she managed to cradle it in her arms. But just as she stepped towards the door, a shadow fell across her.

The Bloodletter dropped from the ceiling and landed on its haunches in front of her.

She dropped the Narthecium and raised her pistol, but she was too late.

Its sword bit deep into her side, cutting through her weak armour and into the tender flesh beneath, opening a wound between her ribs.

Tiris cried out in agony, feeling her heart miss a beat as the sheer awfulness of what had happened began to sink in. She knew she had only seconds to react. With adrenaline surging through her veins she span away from the blade.

It ripped out of her in a spray of blood.

There was no time to inspect the damage. If she didn't kill the Bloodletter, she would die for sure. Acting on nothing more than her instincts she flicked the las-pistol into overcharge and drained the power cell with a single high-powered shot.

The red needle punched straight through the Daemon's eye and into its meagre brain.

It crumpled lifelessly to the floor.

Tiris took a few deep breaths to calm herself. All she had to do was make it back to the operating theatre. With the Narthecium in hand, Malum could patch her up and then get to work on Harlus. They could all make it out alive.

Malum's enhanced senses identified her footsteps from further away than a human ever could, and he was already by the door when she arrived. Her side was covered in blood.

"Sergeant," he said, "What happened?"

"I got it," she said, and collapsed into his arms.

He let the Narthecium fall and supported her.

"Harlus," he said, holding her up, "Can you . . ?"

"On it," Harlus grunted. He was awkwardly lifting himself off the table. His advanced metabolism could fight on his behalf for far longer than hers could. Her cause was more urgent.

Malum arranged her on the table.

"The damage is not so bad," he said, reassuringly. "And with the Narthecium, I can fix it . . . but this is not going to be painless."

"Just do it," she snapped.

He ignored her curtness as he peeled her broken breastplate away. It revealed the gash beneath. Blood was still oozing from it. Muttering a prayer of healing under his breath, he injected a probe into her side to read her vital signs.

"Remain calm," he ordered.

"I am calm," she told him.

A quick synch of the data readouts to the room's display screens told him that she was not lying. Her heartrate and blood oxygen levels were almost normal.

"So you are," he said, in more than a little surprise.

With the Narthecium equipped, tending to her became light work. Malum had no specific training with the instrument but all Astartes understood the basics of their own anatomy, a field that roughly extended to humans as well. He used the Narthecium to clean the wound and check for internal damage. Once he was satisfied that her organs were untouched, he stitched the gash closed.

"There," he said.

Tiris climbed awkwardly off the bed.

"It will take some time for the pain to fade," he said.

"I'm fine," she promised him. "What about the Second Captain?"

Harlus had slumped against a cabinet and his head seemed limp on his shoulders. A trickle of blood was running from the corner of his mouth.

"Accendo," he said. "You know what you must do."

Malum knelt before him and raised the Narthecium, priming its carnifex bolt.

" _He that may fight, heal him_ ," he solemnly recited. " _He that may fight no more, give him peace. He that is dead, take from him the Chapter's due. While his geneseed returns to the Chapter, a Space Marine cannot die. Without death, pain loses its relevance._ "

"Thank you, brother," Harlus whispered.

Tiris' eyes widened as she realised what Malum was about to do. At the last moment she darted forward and grabbed him by the shoulder, trying to push him away. She was nowhere near strong enough to move his immense form but he withdrew the Narthecium.

"Sergeant," he said, sternly, "You do not understand."

"You're going to kill him!" she said, her voice cracking. "You . . ."

"Tiris," Harlus quietly interrupted her. "Accendo is right. I know what must be done. I am only slowing the two of you down."

"But if you die, all of this will be for nothing," she said, angrily. "And I will have put my life on the line with nothing to show for it. Verrel will have been captured, you'll be gone and Farus will get away with his plan!"

"The Emperor does not promise us victory," Harlus reminded her. "He only asks for sacrifice."

"This is the only path," Malum added. "His wounds go beyond the physical. The dark powers of Chaos are eating away at his very being. Only force of will can save him now."

"Well then he can fight it," Tiris decided, looking at Harlus' glassy eyes. "Come on!"

"Be calm," Harlus said, soothingly. "I am fulfilling my destiny."

"You do it, then," she said, beckoning to the Narthecium. "If you're so determined to give up, do it yourself. Don't make us help you."

There was a pause.

"She is right," Harlus said, to Malum.

Malum removed the Narthecium and handed it over to him, then lowered himself to the floor so he was sitting against the cabinet beside him.

All the energy had left Tiris' bones. A dull pain still emanated from her wound. She stretched out on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

For a few minutes none of them spoke a word. There was nothing to be said.

Then Malum gave a cough.

"I have seen Chaos firsthand," he said.

Tiris rolled over to look at him.

Harlus managed to turn his head as well.

Malum had reached up to the collar of his tunic, where a golden Aquila hung around his thick neck. Its once bright surface had become burnished and dirtied with age. As they watched, he examined it closely, turning it over in his meaty fingers.

"When I was but twelve years of age," he said, hoarsely, "War came to Pathonia. I can still recall waking in the middle of the night to see the sky burning with fire. Chaos took my world and twisted it, remaking it in a perverted imitation of its former glory. I watched my family as they were corrupted by the energies of the Dark Gods. Their minds were consumed with hate and heresy. My mother was the last to die, and after three days I was alone in a home I no longer recognised."

"I'm sorry," Tiris said, simply.

"At first," Malum went on, "I thought of my survival as a curse. But as time passed I came to realise that I had been marked out for something special. I fought my way through Pathonia and into the ranks of the White Knights. During my initiation trials, Master Grimfist asked me what kept me going when others around me had failed. I told him that I no longer cared if I lived or died, but that if I _were_ to die, I wanted it to mean something."

Silence fell.

Harlus wordlessly raised the Narthecium to his neck.

Tiris closed her eyes and looked away. She couldn't bear to watch.

There was a click and the sound of a plunger being depressed.

Harlus sighed as the painkillers flooded his bloodstream, overcoming the searing agony from the wound in his chest, and put the Narthecium down.

"Thank you, Accendo," he said, and his voice was firmer than before. "For opening my eyes."

Malum stood and reached down to help Harlus up.

"I thought you might come around," he said, knowingly.

"You're okay?" Tiris said, rising to her feet, her eyes wide.

"Better than before," Harlus grimaced. "Rest assured, I have no intention of giving up. If I am to die today, it will be in battle against the forces of Chaos."

He crossed to the sideboard and retrieved his sword. A flick of a switch activated its power field and it began humming angrily.

"And thanks to you as well, Tiris," he said. "You are an example for us all."

She smiled at him.

"To the Reclusiam?" she asked.

He nodded.

"To the Reclusiam," he said.


	58. S7 E4: Corruption Revealed

Series VII - The Return

Episode IV - Corruption Revealed

 _Second Captain Harlus is newly revived and determined to fight on. Together with First Captain Accendo Malum and Sergeant Tiris Eran of the Imperial Guard, he has resolved to undertake a direct attack on the Reclusiam aboard the_ Last Hope of the Weary _. At much the same time, the Chapter returns from their less than successful visit to Macragge to finally discover the full truth of what has happened in their absence._

Gyrus was pacing back and forth in his staterooms aboard the _Glory of Russala_ , his hands clasped firmly at the back of his long tunic. The shutters over the windows were down to protect the ship's occupants from the corruptive view of the Etherium beyond the reinforced glass. With no light from outside, the bedroom was bathed in the moody orange glow of the lamps on the wooden sideboards. An artificial fire crackled in the grate.

There was a knock at the door.

Gyrus remained caught up in his thoughts for a moment longer, then crossed to it and swung it aside. He found Curatio Lonnar waiting for him, dressed in his elaborately decorated robes of office.

"What brings you here, Master?" he said.

"You've been sequestered away in here since we left Macragge," Lonnar pointed out. "Apothecary Narre advised me against disturbing you, but I simply had to know if you got anything useful out of Chief Librarian Tigurius."

Gyrus gave him a smile.

"Then you had better come in," he beckoned.

Lonnar stepped past him and looked around the room.

Gyrus closed the door.

"These quarters are rather agreeable," Lonnar observed. "They're certainly a vast improvement on the engineering section."

"You keep this vessel spaceworthy," Gyrus reminded him. "It is a vital task."

"One that does not involve much comfort," Lonnar joked, and swiped a stray lock of his clean white hair away from his keen eyes. "Now, you must tell me everything. What did Tigurius say?"

Gyrus nodded and took a moment to distil all he had learned into one sentence.

"I am a weapon," he said, solemnly. "A weapon for the Emperor. Tigurius believes that I have been chosen by the hand of fate to uncover and execute a plan put into place by the Primarch Guilliman before his internment in the Temple of Correction."

Lonnar's eyes widened.

"That is quite the assertion," he said, flatly.

"So it is," Gyrus agreed. "Guilliman and the Emperor both knew that these events would come to pass. They could not foresee specifics, of course, but with his Father's approval, Guilliman laid a trail for me to follow. I seek an ancient weapon known as the Kingmaker, allegedly located in the spine of the original Lexicon."

"Which is lost," Lonnar pointed out.

"It was hidden," Gyrus told him, "By the Knights of old. All record of the plan was expunged so this Kingmaker could never fall into the wrong hands. According to Tigurius, it takes the form of a Crozius Arcanum forged by the Emperor Himself. And so the Primarch left clues. The chalice he gifted to our Chapter is more than a symbol of faith. It is designed to lead us to his writings. That is why he quoted himself on it – so we would investigate further."

There was a pause while Lonnar let his explanation sink in. After a few moments, he folded his arms and gave a heavy sigh.

" _Ex machina_ ," he said. "I can barely believe it. Where does your next step lie?"

Gyrus walked over to the sideboard and picked up one of the tomes Tigurius had thrust into his arms shortly before their departure from Macragge. Its well-worn pages were thin and covered in Guilliman's scrawled handwriting.

"In these texts," he said. "The Primarch has directed us to them. They must be where we find this Kingmaker's location."

"Let me guess," Lonnar said, wryly. "It's not going to be simple."

"Of course not," Gyrus chuckled. "Nothing worth doing ever is. But the works I have here are but a fraction of all those Tigurius identified, so the answers I seek may still be on Macragge."

"A world we cannot visit," Lonnar realised.

"No," Gyrus resignedly agreed. "At least, not without incurring the righteous fury of Inquisitor Fortune, something Master Grimfist has made it extremely clear he is not willing to risk. As if my limited resources were not worrying enough, Tigurius warned me that time is running short. He told me he senses threats to our Chapter and the Ultramarines both."

"Farus?" Lonnar asked.

"Yes and no," Gyrus said. "He was described as the _tip of the spear, not the hand that throws it_. Farus is just a cog in a larger machine, and well he knows it. That machine is the real threat."

"The one Roboute Guilliman intended for you to face," Lonnar reasoned.

"Indeed," Gyrus said, as he put the book down. "The problem being that the power to face it is hidden from me, as is the path to finding it."

"If the next step is not hidden in the works you have, which seems likely," Lonnar said, "It becomes imperative for us to return to Macragge. That means you must persuade the Master to authorise such a trip. How much of what you know have you shared with him?"

"All of it," Gyrus said. "But he has made clear that his highest priority is appeasing Tomas Fortune, and I cannot fully disagree. For now, that means returning to Ulis and making sure that Farus is held to account for his actions."

Lonnar frowned.

"Grimfist means to have him executed?" he said, in surprise.

"He understands now," Gyrus said. "Farus cannot be allowed to spread the evil that has overcome him. If that means ending his life, so be it. So long as there is even a chance that Tigurius' predictions are correct, keeping him alive represents taking a colossal risk."

With perfect timing, the glow from the lamps around the room was replaced by the angry red of the emergency lighting. Alarms began wailing and the ship rattled ominously.

"To the bridge?" Lonnar prompted.

"To the bridge," Gyrus said.

One after the other they hurried out of the staterooms to find the arched hallway beyond already busy with aides and adjutants hurrying past in both directions. They made for the lift at the far end and directed it downwards, through the grand cathedral towards the control room at the very tip of the fin that protruded from the _Glory_ 's underside.

"Relax," Lonnar said, seeing Gyrus flexing his shoulders. "We are not due to arrive at Ulis for a few minutes yet. The Master has been taking the lack of communication from the _Last Hope of the Weary_ to be a good sign, but a combat drill never hurts."

"This does not feel like a drill," Gyrus muttered. "After all the dark predictions Tigurius made, I cannot help but assume the worst."

Lonnar offered no reply. He had been thinking the same thing.

A few moments later the lift arrived and the doors opened to reveal the control room. It was alive with activity but the shutters were still secured in place over the windows, telling them that the ship remained in the Warp for the time being.

Captain Casie Ostrum sat on her throne in the centre of the room, looking out over the rows of desks before her. She was barking orders at the same time as she controlled the _Glory_ 's systems using her mind. The direct interface allowed her to work simultaneously on a hundred different tasks, all while remaining conscious of her surroundings.

Grimfist was there as well, deep in discussion with one of his staffers. Hearing the lift doors opening, he spared them a glance and a nod by way of greeting.

"Brothers," he said, as they approached him.

"I am not . . ." Lonnar began.

"Not my brother, I know," Grimfist interrupted him. "I hear it every time the Apostles meet."

Gyrus gave him a weak smile. It was good to see him telling jokes.

"My lord," he said, "What is happening?"

"I do not yet know," Grimfist admitted. "Captain Ostrum tells me the Navigators report ripples in the Etherium moving rapidly towards Ulis. They believe one or more vessels to be en route to the system. I surmised it might be the work of the Tau, but as Casie rightly reminded me, the xenos have shown no ability to use the Warp for travel."

"This may seem a little too hopeful," Gyrus said, "But might they be Imperial ships?"

"A hope I shared," Grimfist said. "Only to be told we had received no communications warning us of friendly activity in the area. I am sure I do not need to tell you what that means."

"Chaos," Gyrus said, quietly.

There was a brief moment of silence. It was an abrupt confirmation of everything they had feared, and suddenly their worst imaginations had become real. Until then, it had always been possible – if increasingly difficult – to write off the omens they had observed as merely coincidence. But now, faced with heretical forces seemingly intent on intercepting them, they all knew their worst fears were true. Farus really was the traitor they had once refused to imagine he could be.

"Beginning emergency Warp transition," Ostrum reported.

Cogitators around the room lit up with glyphs and the entire ship began to shake as it punched a hole through the barriers between dimensions.

"Why leave the Warp early?" Gyrus said, warily.

"There have been energy fluctuations detected at the edge of the system," Grimfist said. "And we are not taking any chances."

In the empty space at the furthest reaches of Aurora III's gravity, reality twitched. A yawning portal of shimmering energy was opened from nothingness. The hulking battle barge serenely glided through it, her engines cooling off and her Geller field powering down. After a few moments the portal snapped shut behind her and the shutters over her windows retracted.

"We have visual contact of the _Weary_ ," Ostrum said.

Sure enough, the Strike Cruiser was hanging in the void before them.

"Magnify," Grimfist ordered.

The pane of reinforced glass through which the ship could be seen began to shimmer and then activated, enlarging the image. It was an odd sight. The _Weary_ 's running-lights were off, leaving her little more than a solid silhouette against the background of twinkling stars.

"Strange," Lonnar mused. "She looks . . . dead."

"Something is wrong," Grimfist said.

"I'll get on it," Lonnar said, and moved to one of the cogitators to bring up the readouts from the _Glory_ 's scans. "There are plenty of life signs scattered throughout the crew decks but life support and communications are offline."

As they watched, the _Weary_ 's engines ignited in a flash of blue.

Captain Ostrum climbed out of her throne.

"She's coming about," she said. "That is a combat manoeuvre."

"Her weapons are coming online," Lonnar warned them.

"Why would Farus do such a thing?" Grimfist wondered aloud. "He is entirely outmatched."

"The powers of Chaos are not rational," Lonnar reminded him. "And we picked up incoming signatures. He is most likely attempting to buy time."

Ostrum sat once more.

"I'm bringing the void shields online," she said. "Just in case."

There was a silent flicker of light from the _Weary_ 's turreted flank. A volley of supercharged shells crossed the emptiness between the two vessels. The shots found their mark and detonated on the _Glory_ 's shields. Fiery explosions blossomed outwards only to be stifled moments later by the cold darkness of the vacuum.

"Update me," Grimfist barked. "How dare he . . ?"

"We're fine," Ostrum replied. "No physical impacts. Permission to return fire?"

Grimfist shook his head.

"Denied," he snapped. "Captains Harlus and Malum are aboard that ship, along with the First Company – or however much of them remain alive. This demands a boarding action. Curatio, how much time do we have?"

"A little more than half an hour until we have company," Lonnar said, checking his cogitator. "Whatever you are planning, my lord, you had better do it fast."

Grimfist was already making for the lift, beckoning to Gyrus to follow him.

"With me," he said. "It seems we have a Sorcerer to kill."


	59. S7 E5: Casket of Tears

Series VII - The Return

Episode V - Casket of Tears

 _The White Knights are at war once more, this time with the dark powers of Chaos that have taken hold of Farus and Aurelius both. With the full extent of Farus' corruption finally revealed, they now have a window of opportunity – albeit a brief one – to rid the galaxy of his filth once and for all. Master Grimfist has developed a bold plan to eliminate him before Chaos reinforcements will arrive. And he is not the only member of the Chapter drawing up bold plans._

Corporal Verrel was walking through the _Last Hope of the Weary_ 's twisting corridors in a kind of ethereal trance. He had no idea how he'd broken the bonds of the altar he'd been chained to, and he no longer cared. All that mattered was that the hundreds of small cuts on his body didn't hurt anymore. He was safe and calm. A low mist had descended within the ship, accompanied by the gentle lullaby of quiet birdsong. He was trying not to look at his wounds, at the weeping, open sores on his back and the veins on his legs.

A distant voice called for him.

He tried to ignore it and force it into the back of his mind. It had been following him since he stumbled out of the Reclusiam and into this lovely place. That had only been a few minutes ago, but to him it felt like centuries.

Something tugged at his leg.

He fought it, pushing on, fighting the urge to panic.

And then an immense wave of force overcame him. It dragged him back along the hallways, through the maze of corridors and into the yawning Reclusiam once more. His eyes snapped open and all the repressed pain suddenly flooded through his fragile form. An ear-piercing scream burst from his lips, turning into a howl of anguish when he realised the bonds around his wrists were very much still there to hold him in place.

"What are you doing to me?" he coughed, as a line of blood dribbled from his mouth.

Aurelius' hulking figure loomed over him. His huge set of pitch black power armour had been adorned with heretical imagery depicting the Emperor in chains and the mighty fortifications of the Imperium crumbling to dust. Even his skin was blemished with bloody veins in the shape of unholy symbols and icons. His augmetic eye had shrunk into his skull and fused with the flesh around it.

"I am doing nothing to you," he chuckled, contemptuously. "You have been tearing at your skin, Corporal. It is not healthy. What would your squadmates have thought of you if they had seen you like this – broken and weak?"

Verrel looked up at the arched ceiling. Suspended from it by lengths of rusted chain were the Guardsmen he had once called his comrades. Their stomachs had been cut open so their rotting entrails could hang down to the floor in long, snaking ropes. Each face was still twisted into the expression of sheer terror it had borne at the moment of death.

"You have me restrained," Verrel growled. "How could I do this to myself?"

"We could not predict the strength of your desire to punish your own body," Aurelius said, feigning sadness. "Five times now you have broken your bonds by sheer force of will alone, only to add more cuts to the rest. We are only protecting you from yourself."

Verrel cursed at him.

Aurelius recoiled.

"Come now," he said. "This will be less painful if you cooperate."

"If you are trying to break me, it's working," Verrel said, weakly. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just let me out!"

Aurelius calmly leaned over and tightened the cuffs a little.

Verrel cried out in pain.

"I am not doing this for information," Aurelius said. "I am doing it for fun."

"You're a bastard," Verrel panted, his breathing haggard. "Chaos filth."

"It is alright," Aurelius promised. "I will put you back in the real world."

"No!" Verrel shouted. "That's a lie! That place, that hallucination where nothing hurts and everything's perfect . . . _that's_ the vision, not this. You think I don't know that?"

"This is a dream," Aurelius insisted. "You are going to be fine."

"Stop lying to me!" Verrel demanded, straining against his restrains.

Aurelius produced a needle from beneath the altar and sank it into the puffy, bruised flesh of Verrel's arm. He slowly depressed the plunger.

"It is perfectly normal for you to have this reaction," he said. "Go back to sleep."

Verrel's breathing calmed and his twitching eyes slowly closed.

Once he was completely silent, back in his fevered dream, Aurelius straightened up and wiped his forehead. Behind him, the arched door creaked open.

Sorcerer Farus swept into the Reclusiam.

"Aurelius," he said. "I thought I told you to go down to the Apothecarium."

"I will, my lord," Aurelius promised. "I was just checking on our captive."

"You were supposed to be quick," Farus hissed. "For all we know, Harlus and Malum could be anywhere right now. I will have to go there myself and take care of them."

"I am sorry, Farus," Aurelius muttered.

"So you should be," Farus spat, and pointed to Verrel's sleeping form. "Is he ready?"

Aurelius shook his head resignedly.

"Not yet," he said. "His spirit has proven stronger than we initially anticipated, but I have found a way. If we convince him that this world is but a dream, that in reality he is safe, we can twist his mind to our will. When he truly believes us, we will tell him the truth – his reality is as our prisoner."

"It will break him," Farus said.

"And in that moment," Aurelius went on, keenly, "We offer to keep him asleep in that other world forever. All he has to do is open the Casket."

Farus conjured it up out of nothingness. The dim lights of the blood red candles around the Reclusiam flickered off its polished surface.

"A fine plan," he said, approvingly. "I see my faith in you was not misplaced after all."

The Reclusiam was suddenly bathed in shimmering purple light that streamed through the arched window in the wall above the altar. Both of them looked up to see a massive portal opening in the darkness of space. Through it slid the _Glory of Russala_ , engines shining and running-lights blinking though the gloom. It did not take long for her to move onto an intercept course.

"Damn it," Farus said. "I had hoped we would have more time."

"Let me remain here," Aurelius offered. "I will do all I can to speed up the process of Verrel's delusion. You should ascend to the bridge and deal with these aggressors."

"A wise plan," Farus agreed, and made for the platform lift that had been lowered in the centre of the large chamber. Using his corrupted armour's systems he ordered it upwards and it climbed into the shaft that extended from the vaulted ceiling.

Aurelius' eyes flashed and the Casket of Tears materialised in his hands, sent to him by Farus.

 _Good_ , whispered Samovar von Guyen in his ear. _It is almost time_.

He strode over to the altar, where Verrel was sleeping. Just as he was about to wake up with a snap of his fingers, the percussive echo of gunfire filled the Reclusiam from the reception chamber beyond the grand doors. As Aurelius watched, they burst open as a crippled Bloodletter was sent staggering into them with a bolter round buried in its chest. The round detonated a moment later in a shower of acidic blood.

First Captain Accendo Malum was first through the door, slinging the bolter over his shoulders and hefting his power sword.

Following him were Second Captain Harlus, ashen-faced and with his breastplate wrapped in bandages but still very much on his feet, and Sergeant Tiris Eran. She had long since run out of ammunition for her las-rifle and instead she carried a shotgun she had salvaged during their journey from the Apothecarium. All three of them formed up in the middle of the floor, sweeping their weapons around to ensure they were not caught off guard.

Muttering an incantation to keep Verrel asleep in case the drugs did not suffice, Aurelius went to meet them. A tattered black cloak appeared at his back from pure shadow, and a curving power sword with a red blade materialised in his hands as the Casket disappeared into smoke.

"Aurelius," Malum said, seeing him. "I see you have fallen prey to the same foul forces as Farus before you. I always thought you the stronger mind of the two."

"Neither of us have fallen prey to anything," Aurelius hissed. "Our eyes have been opened to the glories of the Chaos Gods. You delude yourselves, you followers of the False Emperor. You fight in the name of an empty corpse."

"We fight for the Emperor, yes," Harlus nodded, "But today, we fight for something else as well. This is personal."

Aurelius only laughed.

"For too long your devotion to your beloved Chapter Master has blinded you to the truth," he said. "When if you only stepped back for one second, you would see that he is the cause of all these misunderstandings."

Tiris nodded upwards at the bodies of the Guardsmen hanging from the ceiling.

"You call _that_ a misunderstanding?" she said, bitterly. "I call it heresy."

A cold breeze blew through the Reclusiam as the blood-red candles were extinguished. The only light came from the twinkling stars beyond the window and the green eyes of Harlus' helmet. When Aurelius spoke, his voice seemed to come from all around them.

"Silence, mortal," he ordered, "You are meddling in affairs you cannot understand."

"She has earned her place at our side," Harlus said, defiantly.

Aurelius gave no reply. In one swift motion he swept down the steps from the altar, raising his power sword aloft, borne by some unearthly power.

Harlus was ready for him, raising his own blade.

A blinding white light spilled through the Reclusiam as the two power fields met and fought to cancel each other out. Sparks showered down from their edges and lighting danced down to their hilts. The glow illuminated Aurelius' face, twisted into a malicious snarl, and the implacable features of Harlus' helmet. Their eyes were locked.

Malum was ready in a second. He stepped past the two combatants and brought his own blade down, trying to outflank Aurelius. The sword was met by an invisible wave of energy that sent him reeling away across the chamber.

Tiris' reactions were slower than theirs and she found herself caught off-guard by heavy footsteps from behind her. She whirled around to see a dozen sets of gleaming red eyes flickering through the half-light. Each one belonged to a vicious Bloodletter Daemon. Her shotgun barked as they surged forward and it cut into their ranks.

Aurelius fought with the expertise of Samovar von Guyen animating his movements. He was two minds in one body, each as skilled as the other. Even worse, he had been rewarded for his newfound loyalty to the Chaos Gods with psychic abilities beyond anything he could have imagined. Every swipe and blow was enhanced by glimmering fields of dark energy that suffused his limbs.

Harlus battled him back and forth along the centre of the room, but it was clear that he was fighting to keep up rather than for victory. He barely managed to parry the whirlwind of attacks that came at him from all angles, one after the other.

"I thought you dead at Farus' hand," Aurelius growled, staring down Harlus as Malum and Tiris battled the Bloodletters behind him.

"My resolve is stronger than he anticipated," Harlus snapped back.

Outside the arched window, the distant flank of the _Glory of Russala_ disappeared behind a wall of flame and smoke as she launched a fall salvo of explosive shells. The volley ripped through what was left of the _Weary_ 's shields and slammed into her hull, rocking the ship violently. Without her shields she was nothing more than a sitting duck in empty space.

"Do you see?" Aurelius said, tauntingly. "Your life is nothing to your masters. They are prepared to sacrifice you to defeat us."

"They are not alone," Harlus retorted, lashing out with a kick.

His boot connected with Aurelius' stomach and sent him stumbling away.

Aurelius snarled with anger as he summoned his powers. A blistering wave of force washed along the length of the chamber, picking the three of them up and sending them tumbling away through the air. They slammed into the stone wall at the end and dropped down to the floor.

The Bloodletters advanced en masse, raising their swords.

"Wait," Aurelius commanded. "They are mine."

With yowls of discontent the Daemons obediently fell back.

"Patience," Aurelius urged, as he strode towards his victims. "You will be feasting on their corpses before long."

That earned him a chorus of loud hisses and growls.

Malum's Sus-An membrane had kicked in to protect him from the trauma of the impact, knocking him out cold. Now his eyes flickered open and he saw Aurelius' boots thumping towards him. But their heavy footfalls were not the only sounds in his ears. It took him a moment to realise that voices were squawking from his implanted microbead.

" _Captain_ ," Grimfist sent. " _Can you hear me?_ "

"I am here," Malum whispered.

" _The ship's shields are offline and were are attempting to lock on to your signal for an emergency teleport_ ," Grimfist said. " _I need to know where you are_."

A teleport was an immensely risky manoeuvre, Malum knew. Normally it required a homing beacon at the far end to work. But the layout of the _Weary_ was well understood by the enginseers aboard the _Glory_ and they would be able to narrow down the target location he provided.

"The back of the Reclusiam," he said, quietly.

" _Received_ ," Grimfist acknowledged. " _Teleporting in ten seconds_."

Malum looked over at Harlus, who was slowly picking himself up. A quick nod confirmed that he had heard their conversation.

"You see now?" Aurelius said, spreading his arms wide. "Help is not coming. You will all die at my hand. It will be glorious."

Malum climbed to his feet.

"None of us will die today," he said, as strands of blue light began dancing around his limbs.

Aurelius' eyes widened and he stepped forward.

"No!" he roared, and beckoned to the Daemons. "Get them!"

Harlus ignored him. He had his sights set on Tiris, knowing she would not have been included in the targeting parameters. The Bloodletters were surging towards her as she pulled herself up and reached for her shotgun.

"Tiris!" he cried.

She turned and saw him barrelling straight at her, pushing through the advancing Daemons and launching himself into a tackle. The surface of his armour was alive with crackling blue energy. Without needing to be told she discarded the gun and closed her eyes, offering a prayer to the Emperor that his insane scheme would work.

Aurelius carelessly cast aside the Bloodletters obscuring his aim and threw his power sword with all his might. The weapon sailed through the air like a spear.

"Brother, look out!" Malum shouted to Harlus.

But Harlus knew the risk he had taken. He reached Tiris and wrapped his arms tightly around her even as the sword found its mark in his armoured backpack. It sank in all the way to its hilt, running him clean through. He ignored the overwhelming surge of pain as he held Tiris tight to his chest, both of them disintegrating into floating shards of blue light.

And then, in the blink of an eye, they were gone.


	60. S7 E6: No Brother Falls Forgotten

Series VII - The Return

Episode VI - No Brother Falls Forgotten

 _Samovar von Guyen's plan, executed with the help of his vassals Farus and Aurelius, inches ever closer to completion. But at the same time, the Chapter is preparing to launch their assault on the corrupted_ Last Hope of the Weary _. The desperate scheme developed by Harlus, Malum and Tiris Eran to retake the Reclusiam has ended in failure – but its full cost remains to be seen._

The _Glory of Russala_ 's Teleportarium was filled with crackling blue energies as the arcane generators span up to full speed. Its immense central platform had been cleared in anticipation of the targets' arrival and the Marines waiting to be sent across to the _Last Hope of the Weary_ were arrayed at the feet of the wide ramps leading up to it. They watched keenly as the shimmering fragments of light that floated through the charged air arranged themselves into human forms.

Blessed by an intimate knowledge of the _Weary_ 's interior, the enginseers had found their mark with unusual accuracy. First Captain Malum dropped from nothingness onto the platform. A moment later came Second Captain Harlus, with his arms still wrapped protectively around Tiris Eran. The three of them landed on the flagstones with dull thumps.

For a few seconds, the only sound was the descending whine of the generators as they powered down and the field faded. None of the observers dared advance. To do so would be to risk having a piece of their body disseminated and reconstituted in some unknown location.

Grimfist was first onto the platform, taking the stairs two by two. He made quite a sight in his Tactical Dreadnought Armor and his red cloak flowed out behind him. The inner glow of the suit shone off his cheeks as he knelt beside Harlus, his eyes widening.

"Apothecary!" he called.

Narre was with him in a moment, along with Gyrus.

Lucius helped Malum climb unsteadily to his feet. The teleportation process was extremely disorienting, even for the Astartes.

"Thank you, brother," Malum sighed, and saw Harlus' unmoving form. "Is he . . ."

Lucius silently shook his head.

Harlus' glassy eyes were open and unblinking. A pool of blood was growing beneath him, dripping down from the wounds in his front and his back. He shifted heavily as the blade dissolved into a cloud of shadow.

"I am sorry," Narre said, as he straightened up. "He is dead."

Silence fell. They were all too shocked to speak. The loss of a Company Captain, especially one as distinguished as Harlus had been, was a severe blow to the Chapter. That it had come at the hand of a fellow Marine was even more shocking still.

"No," Tiris whispered, still wrapped up in Harlus' arms. "Please . . ."

"Who is this?" Grimfist said. "A Guardsman? Why would Harlus give his life for a _mortal?_ "

Malum wordlessly stepped past him and bent down. He gently uncurled Harlus' limp arms and held a hand out to Tiris.

She looked up at his kind face. Tears glistened in her eyes.

"This is no mere mortal," he said, as he lifted her up. "This is Sergeant Tiris Eran of the Ulian Imperial Guard, and she is as fine and devoted a warrior as any of us. Were it not for her actions, Harlus and I would have perished a dozen times over."

Grimfist looked down at her.

"Is this true?" he asked her.

Tiris nodded shakily.

"I . . ." she stammered, and found her voice. "It is."

Grimfist examined her curiously for a moment, and saw the patched-up wound in her side.

"But you are hurt," he said.

"It's nothing," she told him.

He chuckled.

"A hero such as you deserves a hero's treatment," he said, generously. "Narre, take this fine soldier to the Apothecarium and make sure she is afforded the best remedies you can offer. Judging by what Accendo says, we will need her in fighting shape in the future."

"Yes, my lord," Narre said, and beckoned for Tiris to follow him.

She managed to drag her eyes off Harlus' corpse as he led her away.

After a few long seconds, Grimfist stepped back and raised his voice so every Marine assembled in the chamber could hear him.

"There will be time to mourn Second Captain Harlus properly once this fight is done," he said. "For now, I will simply say that he was an example for us all and one of the finest warriors this Chapter has ever known."

As he spoke, he gestured for the serfs around the edges of the room to come forward. They advanced, picked up Harlus' immense form and supported him on their shoulders. With their heads bowed they carried him off the platform. Their muttered prayers echoed through the still air.

Grimfist cleared his throat.

" _For Russala and for duty_ ," he recited, " _For past and for future, for Terra and the Emperor_."

" _No brother falls forgotten_ ," the assembled Marines chorused.

"Now," Grimfist said, "With me, all of you."

The Marines climbed the staircases up to the platform and assembled around him in several different groups. Each had a different destination, and it was vital that some physical space separated them so the teleport process did not accidentally confuse them with one another.

Enginseers were hurrying to their places as the generators warmed up once more. The air began to crackle with pulses of invisible energy. Blinking blue shards of light started floating past.

"Remember your orders," Grimfist said, as the humming in the background grew in volume. "You are to re-establish communications with any remaining members of the First Company so that they may be teleported back here along with you. We have only fifteen minutes or so until the Chaos reinforcements arrive. If you have not succeeded in your mission by that time, activate your homing beacon and return to the _Glory_. Knowledge and faith!"

"Knowledge and faith!" they roared back.

Gyrus had served his Chapter for as long as he could remember, and yet in all his years as a White Knight he had never once undergone a teleport. It was a technology normally reserved for First Company Terminators; they technology built into their Tactical Dreadnought Armour made targeting their materialisation easier. But the _Weary_ 's layout was well-established and the enginseers manning the Teleportarium were familiar with the process. They had little difficult finding a destination. He felt a strange weightlessness suffusing his limbs and looked down to see his own body disintegrating into shards of blue. It was an utterly unique sensation: his consciousness was spliced from his physical form. The bounds of reality dropped away until he was surrounded by utter whiteness. Then, without warning, the world began to put itself back together. His body followed suit, assembled from pure energy. For a few moments he staggered off-balance as his mind struggled to comprehend the physics-defying procedure it had just undergone.

A hand closed around his arm as Grimfist steadied him.

"It is difficult, I know," he said. "Take a moment."

"Where are we?" Gyrus muttered, his vision slowly clearing.

Grimfist smiled.

"Right on target," he said.

They were standing in a long corridor with a vaulted ceiling and panelled walls. It led to the antechamber of the Reclusiam – their destination. The teleport had worked perfectly.

Curatio Lonnar and Lucius were with them as well, the latter still recovering from what he had undergone. Behind them were two full squads of Marines.

"There is no time to waste," Grimfist beckoned. "Let us go."

It did not take long for their advanced metabolisms to kick in and restore a sense of normalcy. Within a few moments they were all striding confidently forward once more. They rounded a corner and arrived at a T-junction with a painting of the Emperor during the Great Crusade hanging from the rail on the wall before them.

"Follow me," Grimfist beckoned, leading them down the hallway to the right.

To their surprise and confusion, they found themselves in exactly the same place they had come from: the same T-junction, with the same painting in the same place.

Lucius ran a hand over it to check it was real.

"Surely this is some manner of dark sorcery," he said.

"We are not going in circles," Grimfist agreed. "I am certain of that much. Farus must be rearranging the layout, trying to buy time."

"That is not all he's doing," Lonnar said. "We have movement from all three directions."

"Bloodletters," Grimfist snarled, and drew his sword. It glowed a bright blue in the gloom. Flecks of dust settled on its surface and hissed as they were incinerated.

Lonnar's augmetic arms swirled around him. They flexed and bent at the elbows as if loosening their joints in anticipation of the fight to come.

"Knights!" Grimfist roared. "Ready your weapons!"

The Marines in the corridor checked their bolters and fanned out, covering every exit.

"Contact," one of their number warned, and he and his fellows opened up.

Their guns spat a volley of explosive rounds along the corridor and into the surging ranks of Daemons, cutting several of them down instantly.

A couple of Lonnar's arms joined him. They sent a series of tight-beam plasma bolts over the heads of the Marines. Flashes of blue light broke the darkness.

"Over here as well," Gyrus reported, seeing a pair of Bloodletters turning the corner into his field of vision. "I will deal with these."

He advanced, swinging Maelstrom, and battle was joined.

The first creature came at him with a blow to the midriff but he ducked under it and brought the sword up, splitting its chest open. Hot black blood sprayed over the front of his armour as he moved on to the next target.

It attempted to grab him around the neck.

He took hold of its arm with his left hand and snapped the bone in two, then stabbed it in the stomach. As it doubled up and fell back, he beheaded the Daemon behind it and drove Maelstrom straight through another.

Grimfist leaned out past him and fired with his bolt pistol.

"My kills!" Gyrus said.

"They were mine," Grimfist replied, with a smile.

Lonnar was helping the Marines defending the second approach while Lucius and a few of their number were covering the third. Together they held off the Bloodletters as the corpses piled up. Once the three corridors were all but blocked, Grimfist opened a wide channel and spoke to them all.

" _On me_ ," he ordered.

As one, the Marines began falling back to the junction.

The Daemons came after them, sensing victory.

It was a perfect ploy and they had fallen straight into it.

Without needing an order, the front ranks of Marines dropped to their knees so their comrades could fire over them. Each corridor was filled with a withering hail of explosive bolts as the Knights fired with calculated discipline. They alternated their rounds to ensure each gun that ran dry was instantly replaced by another opening fire. Within a minute, the Bloodletters lay dead or dying.

"Any more of them?" Lucius asked.

"It seems not," Grimfist said.

Around them, the Astartes reloaded their bolters.

"We will never reach Farus in time at this rate," Gyrus sighed.

Grimfist had a glint in his eye.

"Perhaps we will," he said. "Let us try something new."

The Marines followed him to the left, down a new path, and then left again. This time they at another T-junction, only the painting hung on the wall was different.

"You see?" Grimfist said. "It is no longer repeating."

"But then where do we go now?" Lonnar wondered aloud.

"Either way," Grimfist replied. "Choose."

On Lonnar's direction they went right, and ended up back where they had started, looking up at the same painting and surrounded by piles of dead Bloodletters.

Lucius nodded slowly to himself.

"It is a code," he realised. "There is a specific order in which we must make the turns."

"Indeed, brother," Gyrus agreed. "We seem to return here whenever we turn _right_. So if we keep turning _left_ instead . . ."

"Then we'll make a circle," Lonnar pointed out.

Grimfist checked his chronometer. They were running out of time.

"Maybe it is a little late for logic," he said. "It is worth a try."

They set off along the hallways once again, following Lucius' directions. Three left turns brought them to a door they had not seen before. At an order from Grimfist they made the best of their brief chance to regroup. There was no telling what awaited them on the other side.

"Well," Gyrus said, looking the door up and down, "This is end."

"The end of our long journey," Lonnar agreed.

"I can think of only one thing to say," Grimfist remarked, as he closed his thick, armoured fingers around the handle. "Knowledge and faith."

"Knowledge and faith," they recited.

And he swung it open.


	61. S7 E7: Our Long Journey

Series VII - The Return

Episode VII - Our Long Journey

 _The confrontation that has been brewing for so long is finally at hand. Grimfist is ready to confront Farus and put an end to his schemes once and for all. Time is of the essence. But waiting behind the door to the Reclusiam are truths long since hidden – truths that could change the fate of the Chapter._

"Well," Gyrus said, looking the door up and down, "This is end."

"The end of our long journey," Lonnar agreed.

"I can think of only one thing to say," Grimfist remarked, as he closed his thick, armoured fingers around the handle. "Knowledge and faith."

"Knowledge and faith," they recited.

And he swung it open.

It took them all a few seconds to recognise the chamber they formed up in. The _Weary_ 's Reclusiam had been corrupted almost beyond recognition. From the ceiling hung the defiled bodies of Imperial Guardsmen and the eight-pointed star of Chaos. Each of its sharpened points were covered in dried blood. Torn pages and holy texts were scattered over the floor.

Corporal Verrel was draped over the altar at the far end, covered in scars and bruises. He was deep in sleep. Drugs coursed through his veins.

A cloud of dark energies swirled into being before them. Farus stepped from it, wearing what remained of his twisted power armour and a long, hooded cloak that hung all the way down to the floor. In his hand was the double-edged blade he had wielded during the confrontation in the engine blocks. Harlus' dried blood still coated its edge.

"My brothers," he said, sarcastically.

Grimfist stepped forward as the others circled up behind him to watch each other's backs.

"You are not my brother," he said. "Knights!"

As one, the Marines levelled their weapons at Farus.

Lonnar stepped forward.

"Give up, _Sorcerer_ ," he demanded. "Can you not see the damage you have wrought? It stands as an insult to the Omnissiah and the Emperor both – an insult for which the penalty is death."

"Be calm, Curatio," Grimfist said, before Farus could reply. "I can handle this."

"Can you?" Farus snapped. "In all your years as Master of our Chapter, _Sanctus_ , you have never handled any situation with anything more than sheer, blind luck. Your eyes may not have been opened to the truth as mine have, but you remain as much a traitor as I am."

"You accuse me of treachery?" Grimfist asked, incredulously.

"I do," Farus said, confidently. "And let me provide you with some evidence."

For a moment his eyes flicked downwards as a copy of the Lexicon materialised in his free hand. That was all the time Lucius needed to empty the magazine of his bolt pistol in his direction. Not a single round hit. Each one was torn apart by the foul power of Chaos.

Farus did not flinch. He held the book up for them to see.

"Hopefully," he said, "You are beginning to realise that I cannot be defeated by mere bullets. I command forces you can only dream of overcoming. In time, you will come to understand this."

"We know what you are attempting to do," Grimfist told him. "Put our personal grievances aside and consider the context of your actions for just one moment. If you open the Casket of Tears, you will be consigning millions of souls to oblivion. That would be a heinous enough crime for any mortal to commit, but you swore a sacred oath to the Emperor of Mankind. Can you really live with such deeds on your conscience?"

Farus laughed aloud.

"It is not my conscience you have to worry about," he said, smoothly. "You are the one who has spent your entire career going against your precious Lexicon. This book – the very same one you claim to adhere to – sets out a very strict set of values for the ruling of the Chapter. It places honestly at their heart. And you have spent centuries lying to everyone around you. You concealed your ancestry from Marneus Calgar, concealed the events on Husal from Lord Inquisitor Lonlax and, worse still, concealed your grand plan to manipulate Jarfur from its very instrument."

"Silence!" Grimfist ordered. "Not a word more!"

Farus ignored him. He looked directly at Gyrus.

"That is right, Sergeant," he said. "Do not let worthless titles and membership of exclusive little clubs blind you. You have never been anything more than a pawn in Sanctus Grimfist's game of chess."

Gyrus glanced over to Grimfist.

"My lord," he said, "Is that true?"

"We can discuss it after we have ended this heretic," Grimfist snarled.

That answer told Gyrus all he needed to know.

"It is all true," Farus gleefully went on. "Why not let me show you?"

Before either Gyrus or Grimfist could say a word, they felt the floor beneath their boots dropping away from them. There was nothing they could do as the vile scenes of the Reclusiam faded, to be replaced with the calming intimacy of the Master's office aboard the _Glory of Russala_. It was a perfect recreation, complete with the grand arched windows looking out into space and the Chapter banners hanging between them. A projection of Grimfist sat by the desk.

The three of them materialised behind him.

In a second, Grimfist had danced forward and slashed at Farus. His power sword passed straight through Farus' chest and out the other side.

"Emperor damn it," he growled.

"Oh, give it up," Farus sighed, wearily. "This is nothing more than a creation of my powers, a constructed reality in the Etherium. Our bodies are not truly present, only our minds."

"Farus," Grimfist growled, "Get out of my memories."

"But this is no memory of _yours_ ," Farus purred. "It is a memory of _mine_."

With a wave of his hand the flow of time resume. Gyrus and Grimfist watched, powerless to interact with each other or the scene unfolding before them, as the door to the office opened. No effort on their parts was enough to wake themselves up. Farus had seized control of their consciousnesses just as he had when leading them through the maze he had constructed on their way to the Reclusiam. It was worthless trying to defy him, and they knew it.

Gyrus stiffened as he saw Harlus step through the door. It was a harsh reminder that the Second Captain had met his fate only a few minutes earlier, and at the Sorcerer's hand too.

A projection of Farus was with him. As they looked on, the three psychic apparitions greeted each other and exchanged pleasantries.

Harlus cleared his throat.

"My lord," he said, speaking to the Grimfist that sat behind the desk, "I came to discuss the promotion of the Marine Gyrus from the Third to the Second Company."

The real Grimfist offered no reaction.

"Ah yes," his psychic equivalent recalled. "He saved three squads at the spaceport."

"I was not disputing the decision, sir," Harlus assured him. "I am only asking whether you would ever reconsider it. I actually rather like Gyrus, but surely Captain Jarfur . . ."

"Jarfur will do as he is told," Grimfist said, a little coldly.

"I am sure he will," Harlus said. "Only . . ."

"Was there anything else?" Grimfist interrupted him.

Harlus paused.

"No sir," he said.

"Good," Grimfist concluded. "Then if you would care to excuse me, I would like a chance to have a one-on-one conversation with my Chief Librarian now that he has recovered from his wounds."

"You see?" the Sorcerer Farus said, as the memory continued to play out around them. "Sanctus has never concerned himself with any of his subordinates, only with achieving his own goals. Harlus was nothing to him. He is probably glad to see him gone. Now he can have him replaced with someone more loyal – someone like yourself, _Sergeant Gyrus_."

"Any promotion Gyrus earned will be based on merit," Grimfist said. "Not politics."

"Let me see how this plays out," Gyrus requested, levelly. He didn't particularly want to listen to either of them. The very fact that Grimfist was not denying the events they were witnessing told him there was truth to the projection.

"What do you intend to do?" the psychic version of Farus was saying.

Grimfist's projection took a data-slate from a sideboard. He unlocked it using his passcode and opened a message received after the victory in Fastunhive.

"Since we dealt with von Guyen and handled some extremely sensitive materials," he said, "There is an Inquisitor coming to visit us. Josephine Orrick. She wants us to prove our loyalty by showing how we discipline Marines."

"You intend to offer Gyrus up to her," Farus realised, tilting his head up in recognition.

"Jarfur will jump at the opportunity to have the man who broke the rules under his command sent off for punishment," Grimfist said. "The Inquisition will not hesitate to execute Gyrus and call the matter settled. I will call a meeting of the White Council and instruct Harlus to offer Gyrus a place on the grounds of good performance. At the meeting, Jarfur will argue that we should give Gyrus up."

"And when we find him _innocent_ ," Farus said, "Jarfur will be broken."

"Precisely," Grimfist agreed. "That is when I will offer him a mission, something important enough for him to feel he is wanted. I shall break him down and build him up again to ensure his loyalty. We will need it in the years to come."

The office began to drop away and the Reclusiam rose up to meet it once more. After a moment of blinding light they were back in reality. Nothing had changed. The Marines were still aiming their guns at Farus, who was standing in front of Verrel's shifting form on the altar. What had been a few minutes for them had been just a blink of an eye for the others.

"No," Gyrus said, simply.

"Sergeant," Grimfist said, turning to him as the others kept their guns up, "You cannot let him twist your mind. He is telling you only one side of the story."

"It all fits," Gyrus muttered.

Grimfist took a step towards him.

"You used me," he said, his voice shaking with rage.

"I am your Chapter Master," Grimfist calmly replied. "I do as I see fit."

But Gyrus had no patience for his excuses anymore.

"All this time," he continued, "I thought Farus was the one using his power to achieve his own goals. I see now that I was wrong. It was _you_."

"Good," Farus said, proudly. "Now you have the truth."

Gyrus rounded on him.

"And as for you, Sorcerer," he spat. "I suppose I owe you some thanks for bringing all this to light. To repay you for what you have done, I offer you salvation from your torment."

Farus gave a dramatic sigh.

"You can try," he said.

The very fabric of reality around them was torn apart and a mass of Bloodletter Daemons materialised, each of them armed and ready for battle. There were too many to count. With cries of battle the two sets met in the middle of the Reclusiam.

Gyrus charged into the fray. Maelstrom sang in his hand like a holy choir and burned brightly through flesh and armour alike. Blades came at him from all sides but he was too filled with rage to care. For so long he had wanted to find his own place in the Chapter, a place where he could build a legacy for himself without being controlled by some other force. And in the moment of his success, as he stood on the cusp of realising the destiny Primarch Guilliman himself had chosen him for, it had all been wrenched away from beneath his feet. There was nothing to say anymore. He let his anger well up inside him and bring life to his bones.

Warning glyphs sprang to life on his heads-up display as a blade tore a rent in his arm. It was soon joined by another along his shoulderpad. None of that mattered to him anymore.

Farus was forging a path through the whirling melee towards the altar.

"Sorcerer!" Gyrus bellowed.

A pair of Bloodletters blocked his path.

Before he could reach them a volley of explosive rounds cut them down. He glanced back to see Grimfist aiming through the sights of a smoking bolt pistol. What normally would have earned a prayer of thanks now meant nothing to him. He felt only remorse. Now he had to channel it into action.

Sensing movement, Farus turned and threw an invisible field from his hand.

Gyrus found himself pinned in place as everything around him was thrown backwards. Bloodletters and Astartes alike went tumbling to the stone floor.

"You always were a cocky one," Farus said. "Come with me."

He found his legs moving against his own will, taking him along the Reclusiam.

Verrel shifted slightly but did not wake.

"This is it," Farus explained. "My sacrifice."

"Release me," Gyrus demanded, struggling to break free of his invisible bonds.

"Aurelius!" Farus barked.

The heretical Chaplain emerged from the shadows at the far end of the chamber, carrying a pair of chains in his hands. He attached their ends to two hooks in the stone floor and secured them.

"It is ready, my lord," he said.

"Thank you, Aurelius," Farus nodded. "As a reward, you may remain here and be honoured with a glorious death at the hands of these deluded traitors."

With a dull clunk, the floor beneath Gyrus' feet began moving. He realised in that moment that Farus had laid his trap perfectly. The two of them would be alone with Verrel and the Casket of Tears.

From the thick of the fight, Lonnar had come to the same conclusion. He forged a path through the battle towards the platform as it rose.

"Gyrus, hold on!" he called.

A Bloodletter swung for him.

The two clamps by his shoulders slammed down into the flagstones behind him, catapulting him through the air towards Farus. He sailed over the Daemons below and landed against the altar. The impact sent the lift swinging dangerously from side to side.

Aurelius summoned his strength and jumped. His fingers curled around Lonnar's boot.

"Get away from them, Curatio!" he said. "You do not know what you are doing!"

Farus swung for Lonnar, but his augmetic flamer arm blocked the strike as he clung on to the altar. At the same time, his plasma cutter snaked back over his shoulder and took aim. His eyes met Farus' through the visor of his helmet.

"Say goodbye to your puppet," he said.

The high-energy burst of plasma hit Aurelius directly in his augmetic eye, melting through the optical circuits and into his skull. His red pupil flicked back in its socket as he jolted, convulsed and lost his grip. With a deafening boom he slammed into the floor below.

"Kill who you want," Farus said, contemptuously. "There is no defying me."

With a wave of a hand he caught Lonnar in another psychic field like the one that held Gyrus, pinning both of them in place across the altar from him. A flash of energy conjured up the Casket of Tears. It hovered in the air above Verrel.

"Let the human go," Gyrus said.

"What authority have you to say that?" Farus retorted. "You are a fraud, Gyrus, like all your fellows. I can see the truth. Your blind faith in your false Emperor has led you to your doom."

He leaned over Verrel and whispered an incantation in his ear. As he did so, they arrived at the top of the shaft. A section of the chapel floor above slid aside, allowing the platform to take its place. At an unspoken order from him, Gyrus and Lonnar rose into the air and floated over to the wall.

Verrel was beginning to wake. He felt the pain once more and his eyes bulged wide.

"No!" he howled. "Put me back under!"

"You would like that, would you not?" Farus said, mockingly.

"Don't keep me here!" Verrel begged. "You're . . . you're not real!"

A foul grin split Farus' sallow face.

"I cannot release you from this nightmare," he apologised. "But _you_ can."

Every fibre of Gyrus' being was straining to overcome the Sorcerer's spell. He tried to shout to Verrel that it was a trick and he was on the verge of being saved, but the words would not come.

Farus indicated the Casket.

"Just open it," he said, encouragingly. "Easy as that."

"That's all?" Verrel unsteadily asked.

"I promise," Farus whispered, as the bonds around Verrel's wrists snapped back.

He reached out and closed his thin, shaking hands around the Casket. His fingers struggled with the catch to open its lid.

Gyrus closed his eyes and thought of the Emperor. He thought of Tigurius, and Guilliman, and the fate that had been ordained for him. He thought of the future he could build for the Chapter someday. He let his anger and rage overcome him and seize control of his mind. And he felt the spell lifting. With the strongest effort of his life he overcame the will of the Chaos Gods and dropped to the floor.

Farus rounded on him, his powers breaking, his grip on Lonnar failing.

Gyrus ignored him. All his attention was on Verrel.

"Wait!" he implored, but he was too late.

Verrel looked at him with wide, fearful eyes, and opened the Casket.


	62. S7 E8: White Knight

Series VII - The Return

Episode VIII - White Knight

 _Third Captain Jarfur is dead. Second Captain Harlus is dead. Chaplain Aurelius is dead. Most of the First Company is dead. Chief Librarian Farus, once the closest ally of Chapter Master Sanctus Grimfist, has fallen to Chaos – and in doing so, he has exposed Grimfist's manipulation of his most prized subordinate, Sergeant Gyrus. The White Knights have been torn apart, and in their moment of weakness, an old enemy will re-emerge to break them. They will fall apart or stand together._

No sooner had he broken free of Farus' spell than Gyrus found himself pushed back against the stone wall of the chapel. Warning glyphs lit up across his visor as waves of dark energy washed over him. The Casket of Tears pulsed with immense and ancient power.

Verrel screamed aloud as it consumed him. His body dissolved into fragments of glimmering blackness that swirled through the air, carried by the gale-force winds that were whipping past. They gathered in a vortex above the open Casket and sank into it.

"What have you done?" Gyrus shouted at Farus.

"There is no stopping it now," he said, with relish. "Your doom is upon you."

The Casket dropped to the altar, where Verrel had been a few short moments earlier. Its lid was still open but its contents were hidden from view behind a field of pure energy.

"You bastard," Lonnar spat. "Of all the forces in this galaxy that could bring about the end of the White Knights, none of us ever thought it would be you. And now you have turned your back on every friend you have ever known."

Farus' eyes flashed maliciously.

"How wrong you are," he said. "I am not the hand of the Chaos Gods, only their vessel – their messenger. I will not be the one to bring ruin to your pathetic Chapter."

Gyrus felt his heartrate quicken yet further. Those words reminded him of the warning given to him by Varro Tigurius during their brief visit to Macragge. Tigurius had told him that Farus was not their true enemy and that the threat to the Chapter went beyond him. He had been unable to divine a specific name from Guilliman's writings before the Knights had left the planet. Gyrus' shoulders began to sink as he realised what that name was.

"The Executioner," he said, breathlessly.

"A fitting title," Farus smirked. " _He_ will be the instrument of your death."

Taking hold of Gyrus and Lonnar with his powers once more, he plucked the Casket from the altar and strode out into the control room adjoining the chapel. A group of Bloodletter Daemons was waiting eagerly for him.

"Kill those treacherous scum," he ordered. "I need a clear mind."

They obediently advanced, swords raised, and Gyrus and Lonnar came to meet them as the spell binding them began to fade.

Farus ignored the combat. He was staring deep into the Casket. With a smile spreading across his face, he looked up through the glass dome of the control room and into the emptiness of space.

"I have done it," he said, gleefully. "Your sacrifice is complete. Take it!"

A chill wind blew through the room. Dark tendrils of light wound their way around Farus' arms as the Casket rose from his hands and into the air. The floor began to shake.

"We must stop him," Gyrus growled.

He ducked beneath a Bloodletter's sword and cut the Daemon neatly in half.

To his right, Lonnar tackled another to the ground, then shot it in the head while it was down.

"Quickly," he agreed, charging forward only to find a third Bloodletter waiting for him.

It swung for his legs and one of his clamps closed around the hilt of the sword to hold it in place while his plasma cutter found its aim. With a burst of light its head disintegrated.

"You fools," Farus taunted them. "It is too late. I belong to the Dark Gods now."

He was shining with ethereal power, slowly dissolving into a twisting mass of blackness that was lit from within by flickering bolts of lightning. A massive wave of force burst from its core. Chairs and desks went flying. Both Gyrus and Lonnar were lifted off their feet. They fell against the consoles by the wall, smashing screens in showers of sparks.

And then, as quickly as it had arrived, the storm was gone. The Bloodletters hung back and the Casket vanished. All that remained was the writhing being in the centre of the room. Its knotted energies were slowing and reforming into a shape at its heart.

"Stop this madness," Lonnar urged.

"It cannot be stopped," came a familiar voice from within. "Your time is passed."

In the blink of an eye, Samovar von Guyen stood before them. He had been reborn in the image of his former glory. Curling horns rose from his temples and gleamed in the light. Long black robes hung over a tattered tabard embroidered with snaking incantations in minute red stitching. Each step he took towards them was accompanied by a percussive thud from his steel boots. His features were unreadable beneath his hood, save for his blazing green eyes.

"You see now that you have failed," he said, simply. "None can stand against me."

"We will see about that," Lonnar snarled, and charged towards him.

Gyrus was overcome by a sense of dread as he watched Lonnar facing off against von Guyen. For so long they had worried that opening the Casket would summon an army of Chaos, and yet its true purpose was far worse. This was the foe Tigurius had been unable to name, the enemy who could bring the end of the White Knights and the Ultramarines both. Guilliman had foreseen his coming aeons ago and put a plan in place to prevent his victory. But without the Kingmaker, the weapon the Emperor Himself had intended for von Guyen's destruction, their best efforts would never be enough. They could not fight to win. They could only fight to survive.

Lonnar had no time to contemplate his fate. Bloodletters came at him from both sides but his augmetic arms kept them at bay without as much as a second thought. He dropped into a slide as von Guyen conjured up a sword and slashed at him.

Von Guyen twisted around but Lonnar had the advantage.

Using his clamps, he climbed one of the support pillars and swung from the dome.

"This is the judgement the enemies of the Imperium must suffer!" he roared, as he dropped onto von Guyen with his armoured fist clenched.

But the Executioner was ready to meet him. He hit Lonnar with a blast of psychic force as he fell, sending him back into the dome and knocking him off-balance, then hit him with a punch when he came down once more. The sheer strength of the blow threw Lonnar back into a table that collapsed under his immense weight.

"Your false god will not save you," von Guyen gloated.

While the two of them fought, Gyrus had been keeping the Bloodletters at bay and looking for a moment to intervene. He found it as von Guyen made for Lonnar. With a cry of anger he raised Maelstrom and charged forward, jumping the upturned desk before him and kicking back to use it as a springboard. His blade flashed as he sailed over the Executioner and slashed along the twisted muscled of his shoulder. He landed with a roll and was on his feet in a moment.

That gave Lonnar a chance. He came sprinting towards von Guyen, his right-hand clamp swinging back to strike as if throwing a punch.

Von Guyen heard him coming and retaliated with a wall of force.

Lonnar slammed bodily into the ceiling.

Countless glittering shards of delicate glass flew outwards into space as all the air rushed out of the bridge and it lost pressure. Blast shields automatically slid from their casings to cover the surface of the broken dome. They met at its peak and bolts rammed home, locking them in place.

Even with his advanced conditioning and his suit's autosenses, it took Lonnar a few moments to get his bearings. He was in the void, tumbling away from the _Last Hope of the Weary_. His entire view was rotating before his eyes. Every now and then the shipwould appear to swing past and he would look out for the bridge, but he could see nothing through the blast shields. Using his mind he directed the thrust from the vents in his backpack to slow his rotation.

" _Curatio_ ," came Grimfist's voice in his ear. " _Where are you?_ "

"I'm in space," he reported. "Making my way back to the _Weary_."

" _What happened?_ " Grimfist asked.

"Never mind about me," Lonnar said. "Gyrus is fighting von Guyen in the control room."

" _Von Guyen?_ " Grimfist repeated, and his incredulity was plain to hear. " _What about Farus?_ "

"There's no time to explain," Lonnar snapped. "We . . ."

He never finished his sentence. Before he could utter another word, he was bathed in an otherworld purple glow. A colossal portal was ripped open in the very fabric of reality. Through it came a vessel larger than any he had ever seen.

"Of course it would be her," he muttered to himself.

The _Armageddon's Fall_ was a ship straight out of myth and legend. Constructed during the Horus Heresy to serve as the first of a new class of dreadnought specifically designed to defend Terra itself, she had disappeared into a Warp Storm two centuries earlier. A crusade of five Chapters failed to locate her and she was written off as lost. Since then, there had been reports of sightings throughout the Sagittarius arm, and Imperial leaders had known it was only a matter of time until she resurfaced under the banner of Chaos. That it came at the same time as von Guyen's rebirth was no coincidence. She was a graceless craft; any semblance of her previous beauty had been removed by her heretical crew. She had a blunted prow and flat sides, both of which were covered entirely by a daunting array of gun turrets and interceptor bays. What made her truly intimidating, however, was her sheer size. She was easily twice as large as the _Glory of Russala_.

"This is not a battle we can win," Lonnar cautioned, seeing the _Glory_ moving onto a course to engage the larger ship.

" _I know_ ," Grimfist assured him. " _But we must buy time. Farus – or von Guyen, as you say – cannot be allowed to leave unharmed_."

"Do you not see?" Lonnar said. "There is nothing we can do to harm him. Our weapons are simply not powerful enough. We need the Kingmaker."

There was a pause.

Lonnar heard Grimfist's sigh.

" _Very well_ ," he said. " _The enginseers report the Teleportarium is offline, thanks to all the Warp disruptions. We have only a short time to retrieve you_."

"Gyrus needs your help," Lonnar told him.

" _And he shall have it_ ," Grimfist promised. " _Lucius has boarded a Thunderhawk for extraction and I am making my way up to the bridge now._ "

The gunship shot past Lonnar at full speed, its skids dropped and its engines blazing as it swung in on a landing trajectory. He watched as its pilot put it down on the _Weary_ 's surface a short distance from the bridge. A shadow fell across him and he glanced up to see the immense bulk of the _Armageddon's Fall_ moving into position. If she was allowed to open a Warp portal, both ships could leave through it. They were running out of time.

Suddenly, the dome of blast shields was blown open and Gyrus burst out through it, spinning away end over end into the darkness. He corrected his course and used his vents to propel himself back towards the _Weary_.

Samovar von Guyen rose out behind him, carried aloft on a platform of solid shadow. Unlike the Marines, he needed no suit to protect him from the harshness of the vacuum. His powers were enough to sustain him.

Lonnar landed on the hull and made for them.

" _Gyrus_ ," he sent over the radio. " _To the Thunderhawk!_ "

But Gyrus ignored him. He came down hard on the hull and immediately charged back into the fight. Using his makeshift thrusters he launched himself over von Guyen's punch and drew a long wound along his arm as he went.

Grimfist climbed over the lip of the shattered dome and began advancing towards the two of them, his power sword up and ready. He had replaced the helmet of his Tactical Dreadnought Armour, allowing him to breathe in space, and his magnetic boots held him to the plating beneath his feet.

" _We need to go!_ " he insisted, over the radio.

"Someone must fight for the Chapter," Gyrus said, coldly. "And I will not let it be you."

Grimfist gathered his speed along the hull and used the blistering vents of his suit to lift off into space. Raising the power sword above his head, he brought it down on the Executioner.

Von Guyen blocked him with a psychic shield and darted back to avoid his landing.

" _Damn it_ ," Gyrus heard him curse as all three of them fell back. " _Give us some cover!_ "

A squad of Knights advanced down the ramp of the Thunderhawk and formed up, bolters at the ready. They sent a volley towards von Guyen. Lucius was at their head, emptying every last round from the magazine of his gun.

Von Guyen caught the rounds using his powers, but it was enough to keep him distracted.

Gyrus knew there was no winning his fight – not without the Kingmaker – but his anger had fully overcome him. He would not let Grimfist steal his glory. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he prepared for another attack.

Lonnar was not going to let him throw his life away against an enemy he could not defeat. His augmetic clamps closed around Gyrus' armoured shoulderpads to hold him back while the Marines behind them kept up their bombardment and pinned von Guyen in place.

" _We must leave_ ," he said.

"No!" Gyrus cried. "Release me!"

" _Sergeant_ . . ." Grimfist implored, but Lonnar cut across him.

" _Go_ ," he said. " _I will talk some sense into him_."

With a grimace, Grimfist made for the Thunderhawk.

The _Armageddon's Fall_ had manoeuvred alongside the _Weary_. To them it looked as if a sheer wall of pockmarked turrets and shining windows stretched away on their right. Crackling lines of energy began sparking off her distant prow as she prepared to open a new portal into the Warp.

Faced with no other option, Lonnar used his clamps to spin Gyrus around.

" _Gyrus_ ," he said. " _The galaxy needs you alive_."

Behind the safety of his shimmering shield, von Guyen was conjuring up another spell. Flames wrapped around his hands and danced off his fingertips.

Lonnar's eyes were fixed on Gyrus' through their visors.

" _Forget the Master_ ," he sent. " _And listen to me. We leave now, or we all die_."

"Von Guyen cannot be allowed to escape," Gyrus said.

" _We cannot stop him_ ," Lonnar replied, calmly.

"But . . ." Gyrus began.

" _No,_ " Lonnar cut him off. " _Listen. We cannot stop him_."

Gyrus' breathing slowed. His anger was fading. He felt the energy leaving his bones and he glanced back over his shoulder at von Guyen just as the shield dropped. In a moment he had registered it all: the whirling flames, the bolt of energy searing straight towards them and the Warp portal yawning wide ahead of the ship.

" _Curatio!_ " Grimfist shouted.

Lonnar had seen it as well. He did the only thing he could do. With all his strength he threw Gyrus aside and span out of the bolt's path, but he was half a second too late. It caught him directly in the head. The impact sent him staggering away across the hull, the side of his helmet a ruin.

Gyrus dived for him and caught him before he could teeter off-balance.

Von Guyen advanced but Lucius, Grimfist and the other Knights were with Gyrus in a second, all of them firing mercilessly in his direction. He could only snarl with anger and raise another shield to protect himself as they backed into the Thunderhawk.

Gyrus did not look down at Lonnar's injuries as he carried him to the gunship. He could not bring himself to. The mere thought that Lonnar had put himself in harm's way so readily was enough to bring tears of grief to his eyes. He no longer cared about his seething rage, about Grimfist's transgressions or the age-old divisions that had been ripped painfully open by Farus' betrayal. Lonnar had been right: none of them mattered. All that mattered was serving the Emperor, and for that he had to be alive. There was so much more to do.

The Marines drained their guns and the Thunderhawk's ramp slid up into place as the _Weary_ and the _Armageddon's Fall_ both began to accelerate towards the beckoning portal. Side by side they slipped through it, disappearing from the Aurora system to some unknown destination. After a few more seconds the portal closed and darkness fell.

"Brother!"

Gyrus' eyes snapped up.

Lucius was leaning over him, jostling from side to side as the Thunderhawk shook. He pointed down at Lonnar, who was still held in Gyrus' armoured grip.

"Yes," Gyrus muttered. "I . . . yes . . ."

He gently lowered Lonnar's unmoving form to the floor of the compartment. As he did so he was vaguely aware of Grimfist watching him from a few seats over, but he paid it no mind. There were many arguments ahead of them, and in time they would air their grievances. For now, they were free.

"Farus is gone," he breathed.

Lucius sat beside him and removed his helmet.

He did the same.

"Yes," Lucius sighed, running a hand through his dyed hair. "He is gone. The battle is over."

Finally Gyrus looked at Grimfist. The Master was bareheaded now as well, and he could see the regret etched into his haggard face. His eyes were filled with sorrow.

"Brother," he said, hoarsely. "I owe you an apology. I owe the _Chapter_ an apology."

Gyrus only shook his head.

"No," he said. "No apologies. Just change."

Grimfist nodded solemnly.

"We will change," he promised, signing the Aquila with his gauntlets. "And we will take the fight to von Guyen. I swear it. Knowledge and faith."

Gyrus returned the sign.

"Knowledge and faith," he said.


	63. S7 E9: Russala

Series VII - The Return

Episode VIII - Russala

"Legend tells us that ten thousand years ago, the holy and sacred Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines and founder of the kingdom of Ultramar, came to the Watchman system in search of a new home. It has been millennia since the true story of the colony's founding has slipped into myth, but the grain of truth at its heart has never quite faded. Guilliman made a home for himself here on Russala, constructing a palace of pure marble on a peak that rose above the world's dusty plains. After his tragic injury at the hand of his brother Fulgrim, the palace he built came into the hands of the Aquilinus family, noblest of Russala's Six Houses. For thousands of years they maintained it and preserved it as he had imagined it. It was only after their betrayal, and the erasure of any trace of their existence, that it fell into disrepair."

There was a pause.

Gyrus gazed up at the podium where the Chapter Master stood. Rising above him was the marble tower of the palace, and hanging between its seams of clear windows were the banners of both the White Knights and the Inquisition. Behind him stood Lord Inquisitor Jae Lonlax and Marneus Calgar of the Ultramarines.

"Today," Grimfist went on, "We pledge to rededicate ourselves to the ideals that Primarch Guilliman upheld. This will not be an easy transformation, and it will not be a quick one. We must earn the trust and authority that we have allowed to atrophy. And I must recognise that as Chapter Master, I am the first and last reason for any transgressions committed under my watch."

A round of applause went up from the assembled dignitaries. They were a mix of aides from both Chapters, as well as a delegation from the Inquisition and members of the Russalan noble Houses. To all of them, Grimfist's honesty was refreshing.

Grimfist cleared his throat and looked out over the audience gathered in the cloister. He cast his mind back to his childhood, to the years he had spent playing amongst the columns and reading on the grass. He could still picture his father reciting Imperial prayers with him on holy days. That thought reminded him of Consus' treachery, and his face set.

"For generations," he said, "The White Knights have been proud of our firm ties with the Deathwatch. Unique among the Chapters of the Astartes, we allow the use of surnames only by those who have completed a term of service. I was not among their ranks when the moment Dominicus Nero envisioned came to pass. But more importantly, I was also not among the ranks of aristocracy. Instead I was a ganger, an Underhiver who lost his name and his standing. No amount of time with the Deathwatch could change that fact. The surname I won back was no Caecilius or Tarquinius. It was Grimfist – and as proud as I was to win it, it tainted me forever."

He glanced back over his shoulder to Lord Inquisitor Lonlax, who nodded approvingly and gestured for him to continue.

"But," he said, firmly, "That will change. I am pleased to announce that I have been given the rare and prestigious chance to serve a second term with them, to resurrect the surname that was taken from Russala so long ago. When I return it will not be as Sanctus Grimfist but as Sanctus Aquilinus. The honour of House Aquilinus, and this palace that has long been our home, will be restored. With it shall come a new commitment to the values of the Primarch Guilliman and of his beloved and fabled Ultramarines. We will build a new Russala in the image of Macragge. And to tell you how this will all happen, I would like to present the fine warrior who will be leading in my stead: Master Malum."

The loudest round of applause yet went up as he bowed away from the lectern. One by one the audience rose to their feet to offer him a standing ovation, and they carried on when Accendo Malum took the stage after a few moments. His dreadlocks had been tied with golden rings bearing the chalice symbol, like those in Grimfist's grey hair.

He signed the Aquila and laid his hands on the sides of the lectern.

"Thank you," he said, his strong voice booming out across the cloister. "Unfortunately my first act as Chapter Master will be somewhat less celebratory, but in its own way, it will be just as important. Ships can be replaced and defences rebuilt . . . and yet we can never replace those who have given their lives for the Emperor and for His Imperium. Please join me in a prayer of thanks for the sacrifice of Second Company Captain Harlus and the reading of the names of the dead."

Every head was lowered and the audience recited the prayer along with Malum. When it was finished, they sat in silence for the better part of three minutes while the name of each casualty from the First Company was read aloud. It was a sombre process, a visceral reminder of how much the Chapter had lost thanks to Farus.

"Knowledge and faith," Malum said, once the last name was spoken.

"Knowledge and faith," they chorused back.

The cloister soon filled with the hum of conversation as they all dispersed and began mingling. Servitors rolled from their stations to serve drinks. It was a remembrance service, but the Knights had no time for pointless mourning and peals of laughter would echo out across the plains.

Gyrus soon caught Grimfist at the edge of the crowd, beckoning for him to come over.

"My lord?" he said, as he approached.

"Follow me," Grimfist beckoned.

He led Gyrus through the arched doorway and the grand, vaulted chamber on the other side. A right turn led them to the balcony and its adjoining landing pad. From where they stood, they were given an unrivalled view out over the dust storms to the hulking city of Storenhive. Lights twinkled on its jagged flanks. Beside it, the landscape was split by a yawning canyon that wound back and forth towards the horizon, following the route of the river at its base.

Lucius and Apothecary Narre were waiting for them.

Curatio Lonnar was there as well. He was leaning on the balustrade with his back on them, his robes of office flapping out behind him in the breeze.

"My brothers," Grimfist said, with a broad smile. "I thought we should meet one last time before my departure."

Lonnar turned to them. He had mostly recovered from the injury Samovar von Guyen had inflicted upon him, but the scars would never fade. Most of the right side of his face was smooth and sunken, the taut skin marked with red blotches. His eye had recessed into its socket and turned a milky white with blindness. A swath of his distinctive white hair had been burned off by the flames and he had shaved the rest off until it could all grow back. With a bald skull, he looked somehow more scholarly and devout than he had before.

"I am not your brother," he said, with a twinkle in his good eye.

"And much as the thought of not having to hear that axiom for five years fills me with joy," Grimfist joked, earning a laugh, "I will miss you all dearly, as I will Captain Harlus."

" _No brother falls forgotten_ ," Lucius said.

" _No brother falls forgotten_ ," Grimfist returned. "Apothecary, have you yet found a suitable candidate for his geneseed?"

"It is only a matter of time," Narre assured him. "Harlus will live on in a new recruit, as our forefathers live on in us. Astartes never truly die."

"A comforting thought," Lucius said.

Grimfist nodded his agreement.

"But for now," he said, "We must focus on the issues at hand. My first and only order to Master Malum has been to find replacements for those we have lost. He will pick his own successor from the ranks of the First Company, I am sure – a warrior capable of leading them and happy to step aside when I return from the Deathwatch and Accendo returns to the rank of Captain. A more difficult task will be finding a replacement for Jarfur."

"What about Harlus, my lord?" Lucius asked. "The Second Company are leaderless as well."

"That post must be filled, yes," Grimfist said, and his eyes fell on Gyrus. "Though I suspect our new Chapter Master will not have far to look."

Gyrus smiled at him.

"Thank you, sir," he said, graciously.

"I know you have wanted this for a long time," Grimfist replied. "And there can be no doubt that you have earned it. Those who rise to power do so for a number of reasons, some more noble than others, but only the greatest of leaders reach their rank from a desire to shape their own destiny. I see now that what I did was wrong, and I am fully prepared to suffer the consequences. I must earn my redemption, as you have earned your position."

A frown crossed Gyrus' face.

"My lord," he said, "What are you saying?"

Grimfist reached out and laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You already know, Gyrus," he said. "Just tell me. Speak your mind. Emperor knows you have waited long enough for it."

Gyrus looked at them all in turn. They were watching him keenly while he found the words. For as long as he could remember he had been controlled. He had no problem with taking orders – no Marine did – but it was more than that. It was insidious and manipulative. The Knights had lost their way. Grimfist had not been the sole cause of that sad fact, but he had enabled it and worsened it when he was the one most empowered to stop it. Somewhere along the line their mission had become less about defending the Imperium and more about gathering power. And every attempt he had made to correct their course had only been a step in the schemes of those at the top of the hierarchy.

He nodded to himself as the words came to him.

"I have been ready for this for longer than anyone knows," he said, confidently. "And I know I can serve effectively and successfully. Under Accendo Malum's leadership, I can be a part of the effort to restore our Chapter. That is all I have ever wanted."

There was a pause.

For Gyrus, it felt as if something had changed. He had waited, feeling his frustrations grow, to speak those sentences aloud. Finally the moment had come – his moment.

"Well said, brother," Grimfist said.

A shuttle swept down from the sky. Its grey flank was emblazoned with the tall letter I of the Inquisition. As they watched, its landing gear descended and it touched down on the pad beside them with the descending whine of engines.

Footsteps echoed from inside the building as Accendo Malum, Marneus Calgar and Jae Lonlax came out to meet them.

"Sanctus," Lonlax said. "It is time."

"Of course," Grimfist acknowledged.

He said his goodbyes to them one by one.

When he reached Gyrus, he lingered.

"Do me proud," he said, quietly.

"I will," Gyrus promised. "Farewell, my lord."

Grimfist tutted as he made for the shuttle's ramp.

"I am not your lord anymore," he said. "I am a battle-brother of the Deathwatch, no higher or lower in rank than you. So it shall be for the next five years."

"Very well," Gyrus said. "Farewell, Sanctus."

The ramp closed and the shuttle rose into the air. After a few moments it was gone, a speck against the azure blue sky that stretched away over the empty plains.

Malum turned to Gyrus.

"Congratulations, Second Captain," he said. "We will meet soon to discuss the responsibilities that come with your new rank. Your comrades will have to become used to serving under you rather than alongside you."

"He has always thought of himself as a little superior," Lucius quipped.

They all laughed together.

"So far as I am concerned," Malum said, "Any Marine who can claim to have fought Samovar von Guyen and lived to tell the tale is worthy of a promotion. But we cannot waste our time. There is much to be done. The Executioner is out there somewhere, and he is gathering an army to his side. We know he already has the _Armageddon's Fall_ at his command. There is no telling what forces he might call upon to support his war on the Imperium."

"We will be ready for them when they come, my lord," Gyrus said.

"An admirable pledge, Captain Gyrus," Malum said. "Now, we must return to the _Glory of Russala_. The sooner this war begins, the sooner it ends."


End file.
